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RUTH ENDICOTT'S ¥AY 

OR 

HAEGEA VE'S MISSION 


LUCY 0A.ILLIE 

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AUTHOR OP ** ESTHER’S FORTUNE,” “THE SQUIRE’s DAUGHTER,” 
“ FOR honor’s sake,” “ A FAMILY DILEMMA,” ETC., ETC. 


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PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY T. COATES & CO. 




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RUTH ENDICOTT’S WAY. 


CHAPTER I. 

The sunlight of a soft June morning flooded the main 
schoolroom in Miss Daintrey’s establishment for young 
ladies, bringing certain objects into prominence, casting 
others into shadow, but altogether touching a picture well 
worthy of an artist’s pencil. In one group the fair face, 
flaxen hair, and plump figure of a German girl, Eva Siebel, 
was in striking contrast to that of a very bright, dark-eyed, 
animated child, Margaret Powers, who was always, as Miss 
Daintrey said, en evidence. From the rising bell to that 
for prayers at night Margaret’s voice or step was to be 
heard, unless silence was actually enforced ; and the present 
occasion, she felt, justified her in being unusually talkative. 

With the closing of the school year, it was Miss Dain- 
trey’s custom to give an evening party which all the 
scholars attended in full dress, and, without regard to age, 
were allowed to take part in any of the amusements of the 
evening. Invitations were sent out to friends and rela- 
tions; the dignitaries of the town always came, with their 
wives, sons, and daughters; Miss Daintrey presided like a 
happy mother, liking nothing better than to see her “chil- 
dren,” as she called them, happy, and this year there was 
unusual satisfaction in the festivity since the classes had 
done remarkably well, and in spite of certain failures in 
a branch or two Ruth Endicott, the avowed favorite and 


2 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT. 


darling of the school, had come out of the examinations 
with Hying colors. 

Ruth had spent several happy years with Miss Daintrey. 
Her father, an invalid, who was obliged to live abroad for 
his health, had placed her with the principal of the school 
when starting on his last voyage in search of life and 
strength. No expense was to be spared on the girl’s edu- 
cation or comfort; the best that could be provided was 
to be hers, and I am sure my young readers will find it easy 
to understand that a pupil taken on these terms must have 
fine stamina and a very generous nature to escape being 
spoiled. Ruth had escaped, thanks to her own charac- 
ter — the best trait of which was complete unselfishness. 
She entered too thoroughly into the feelings of all around 
her to be absorbed in herself. Her heart was constantly 
with her absent father — wondering how and where he was, 
what he would think of her on his return; and while the 
girls chattered on, she was planning for the near future in 
which she would have him all to herself once again. His 
ship was due, and it could only be a question of a few 
hours until they were together. Everything had always 
been provided for Ruth on so lavish a scale that she had 
really lost the enjoyment most 3'oung girls have in 
what is hard to obtain in the way of dress or pocket 
money. But she had looked on wondering what the 
other girls would think if they knew what was the real 
excitement — the real ambition of the occasion for her? 
If not on the very evening in question, certainly the 
next day she would see her father, have her arms about 
his neck, feel that he had come home to take her any- 
where — Ruth thought it mattered nothing so long as it 
could be to a home of their own. And so, while Eva 
murmured her small miseries during the recreation hour 


Burn ENDICOirS WAY. 


3 


as to whether the slippers she had ordered would be just 
what she liked, or whether Miss Fellowes, the English 
teacher, would insist upon her doing any exercises that 
afternoon, Ruth listened, thoroughly understanding her 
friend’s torment of mind, yet lifted into a realm of thought 
entirely above and beyond it. As they paced up and 
down the long classroom, which, but for themselves, was 
entirely deserted, Ruth’s eyes, gazing ahead out through 
the windows to the avenue, seemed to see her father driv- 
ing up — she seemed to hear his voice — remembered so long 
ago, asking for his little girl — then she fancied how it 
would be to meet him — to hold his hands, to talk to him — 
to tell him everything — everything — all the little foolish as 
well as wise ideas she had held in her brain waiting to dis- 
cuss with him. 

‘‘Ruth,” said Eva suddenly, “I don’t think you are 
paying a bit of attention to what I am saying. You know, 
when we go upstairs after dinner, I won’t have a scrap of a 
minute to talk to you in, and then you can’t tell me what 
I’m to do this evening.” 

Ruth roused herself now. She remembered that Eva 
had had but the smallest opportunities for social life; that 
the girl was almost feverishly anxious on the subject of 
her own deportment. Her father was a wealthy, unedu- 
cated man, whose one end and aim in life seemed to be 
that his daughter should take a position in what he called 
society. He was expected for the school festivity, and 
would be almost cruelly critical of Eva if she did not con- 
duct herself in every way on a plane which he supposed to 
be the correct one, and poor little Eva, who had only her 
school traditions to afford her father any satisfaction in 
this respect, was nervous and anxious, since she supposed 
that if she disappointed him in any way there would be 


4 


BUTII E2s^DIG0Tr8 WAT. 


only misery ahead. She was to go home the day follow- 
ing, her father having decided not to leave her as she had 
desired for part of the school vacation, Eva having only 
insisted upon this since there had been every prospect of 
Ruth Endicott’s remaining. To have claimed Ruth for a 
visit of unlimited duration would have delighted the young 
girl, yet until she saw her father — until Ruth and he had 
met for the second time, she hardly dared to speak of it, 
being conscious that Ruth’s superiority of mind and feel- 
ing might make association even as a guest of Mr. Siebel 
impossible. 

“You will have a minute to talk to me,” said Ruth, 
laughing and turning round to look at her young friend 
with the gentle fondness she always felt for her. “You 
must not suppose, my dear, that I don’t intend to make 
time to talk to you and several of the other girls on such 
a day as this.” 

“Oh, then, I’m only to be classified with several of the 
other girls, am I?” declared Eva, “and after all this time, 
Ruth, am I not a bit nearer to you than anyone else?” 

Ruth paused. Something of her fine New England 
ancestry made it impossible for her at any time to say what 
she did not actually feel where matters of affection were 
concerned, and yet there was a warm uprising in her heart 
for the helpless, childish little creature — the pet of the 
school, who had always looked to her for stronger influ- 
ences as well as for the caressing fondness a mother or 
elder sister might have bestowed. 

“You are just yourself, Eva,” said Ruth, laughing and 
turning around to look the young girl quietly in the face, 
“and let me tell you it’s my opinion that the most we can 
any of us ask for in this world is to fill a place of our 
own — if we do that well, why, it’s all our own, isn’t it?” 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAY. 


5 


‘‘Oh, Ruth,” exclaimed Eva, “what a funny girl you 
are! You say things that a person has to go away and 
think about before she can understand them.” 

Ruth laughed. 

“So much the better,” she said, giving Eva’s soft little 
cheek a light touch with her finger; “then, when we are 
separated, you will have something to remember and puzzle 
over. And now, my dear,” she added suddenly, “the bell 
will ring in a moment or two, and I must really fly up to 
my room and look after one or two things I have left 
undone. If you like to wait here, I will come back as soon 
as possible.” 

Left alone, Eva Siebel flung herself into the only easy 
chair the old classroom could boast, a prey to most mel- 
ancholy reflections. Well did she understand 7iow. A 
year’s association with Miss Daintrey’s pupils liaving taught 
it to her — that her father’s main object in placing her at the 
academy had been to refine her in manner, feeling, and 
habits of daily life, such as he or she had never known, and 
something told her that he would not feel satisfied with 
the result. So much of enlightenment had come to the 
young girl that she perceived her own lack without know- 
ing how to supply the deficiency. Every little while some 
incident of school life emphasized it more clearly, and Eva 
would resume her efforts at “imitating” Ruth, who was 
considered par excellence the best “mannered” girl in the 
school. Yet Ruth was so easy — so simple — so full of 
innocent gayety ! Eva’s attempts at jocularity were 
always dismal in the extreme ! Her “jokes” had come to 
be dreaded by everyone, since they generally offended good 
taste or personal feeling ; she, poor girl, beitig innocent of 
such a result. If any incident or occurrence chanced to 
have mortified a girl, Eva’s attempts at sympathizing only 


6 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAT, 


made the victim feel, in school parlance, fairly frenzied,” 
while her way of making a present on festal occasions was 
sure to produce in the recipient a sense of obligation 
wdiich was positively galling. More than one girl had 
tucked away out of sight one of Eva’s birthday remem- 
brances, to be rid of the donor’s frequent comments on it 
while visiting her room, lest attention to its value or useful- 
ness be lacking, and Ruth, who was sincerely sorry for the 
girl, used often to w^onder how things would fare with her 
when she was away from school and in the great world, 
sure to attract and be attracted, since there was no question 
of Mr. Siebel’s wealth. 

Eva’s mind went restlessly from point to point — dis- 
satisfied, yet at the same time having points for com- 
placent reflection. She would like to have her father 
see Ruth Endicott was so fond of her. ‘‘But is she 
really fond of me,” thought Eva, in whose curious 
little nature was a strong vein of shrewdness. “ 1 know 
she’s hind — but somehow, I’m not sure she cares in 
her very heart, I Avonder how soon she’ll be back. I 
expect one of her dearest friends is keeping her now.” 
It had been an hour of general dispersion throughout 
the school. 'No regular classes had been attempted for a 
day or two, and the girls had been free to wander about as 
they chose during this morning, provided they attended to 
certain summonses, such as what was known as the “quar- 
ter bell” which Ruth had suggested. This rang always at 
a quarter before twelve in order to give the girls time 
for the preparation Miss Daintrey wisely insisted upon 
for their midday meal, etiquette of the table beginning, as 
she used to say, with a suitable appearance for it. Careless- 
ness of dress, flying locks, anything suggestive of untidi- 
ness, was unpardonable in the mistress’ eyes, and for her 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAT. 




part the good presiding genius of the establishment saw 
to it that her pupils’ table was served in the most careful 
manner, so that it was quite impossible for them to leave 
her house ignorant of those conventionalities of home life 
which make up so large a part of its grace, charm, and 
refinement. 

Ruth, on leaving the classroom, hurried along the wide 
hall and up the staircase to her own room on the second 
story, which would have been the envy of the other 
girls but that she so generously offered them her hospi- 
tality. It was a large room with windows overlooking 
the carriage drive, the curving road, and a vista of water 
beyond some fir-trees. Ruth, who, for all her spirit of 
light-heartedness, was inclined to be something of a 
dreamer, had enjoyed many an hour curled up on the low 
window seat of her room, gazing out upon the tranquil but 
suggestive landscape, wondering and thinking about the 
future, but always with her father as the dominant, con- 
trolling figure. Even now, as she hastened into the room 
and began to make a few rapid alterations in her dress, 
it seemed to her as though all the anxiety and speculation 
of the past years had suddenly taken form and substance. 
In view of the fact that she was so soon to be with him, 
they seemed to gain reality, and the girl went about from 
one point to another, wondering if her father would ever 
know how much she longed to have him home again, and 
just how much she intended to do to make him happy? 
She stood a moment before the long cheval glass, half 
ashamed and half amused by her own light-hearted laugh- 
ing look — and then it occurred to her, what would her father 
think of her? Would he call her plain or pretty? “Well,” 
concluded Ruth, “perhaps he will say I am nice looking,” 
and she critically surveyed her tall young figure, her fair, 


BUTE ENJDICOTrS WAY. 


d 

innocent face, and studied such good points as JMr. Endi- 
cott might see fit to admire. 

‘‘But he has black hair and black eyes,” thought Ruth, 
with half a sigh; “however, he can’t but be pleased on 
one point. I remember, when 1 was little, he always called 
me a genuine Endicott.” 

And then the girl almost danced around in her final 
prepai’ations. But for her natural dread of showing what 
was nearest her heart she would have sung aloud as she 
flew down the staircase again ; and it amused her to think 
what the other girls would say if they knew that the digni- 
fied Ruth felt as foolish as the youngest child in the house. 

“Well, I do declare,” exclaimed Eva, as her friend 
returned to the still deserted classroom, “what is the 
matter with you, Ruth Endicott? What are you laugh- 
ing at?” 

“What?” exclaimed Ruth, standing still to look at her 
companion with shining eyes. “Because I am going to 
have a father all of my own, all to myself, and every 
moment seems an eternity until I see him.” 

Eva continued to look at Ruth as though there might 
be a chance of her head being slightly turned. 

“Well, I guess,” she said at length, “you’d better not talk 
oi fathers until you know what some of them can be like !” 

But the bell, sounding at this moment, broke into any 
such depressing speculation. As the girls left the class- 
room, doors in various directions were heard to open, and 
in a few moments Miss Daintrey’s pupils were assembled 
in a large, old-fashioned dining-room, entirely homelike in 
its aspect; the mistress of the house, a fine-looking elderly 
woman, with something both of sweetness and command in 
her appearance, welcoming the girls as a mother might, 
and giving to the meal an air of complete family life, in 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY. 


9 


which all that was stiffly formal was dispensed with and 
yet every nicety carefully observed. 

Ruth took her place next to Miss Daintrey, who smiled 
back into her favorite pupil’s happy eyes. 

“All in good time,” said the schoolmistress in an under- 
tone. “I wonder, my dear, whether your father will think 
we have done our duty by each other.” 

But Ruth could only look down and smile again. She 
was too happy in the prospect ahead of her to talk* 


CHAPTER IT. 


A school-girls’ parly is, I venture to say, a more excit- 
ing event than any ball given in general society. It is 
looked forward to, calculated upon, and discussed in its 
every bearing — every pro and con considered which may 
make it worth anticipating, enjoying, and talking over 
for days afterward. And, calmly ordered as was Miss 
Daintrey’s establishment, her girls were quite young 
and healthy-minded enough to regard the forthcoming 
festivity in its most captivating light. For days previous 
there had been knots of anxious talkers, here and there, 
wondering what would and what would not be done. 
There were heart-beats over the momentous question of a 
pretty sash or a new method of arranging someone’s hair; 
and, when the frills of one girl’s skirt had been laundried 
in the wrong way, a perfect wail had gone up from her end 
of the corridor. If a girl found herself in need of some 
particular piece of adornment and had wildly searched 
among her boxes for something to take its place, there 
would be a rush into the hall and to some other room with 
a piteous demand for the article needed, followed by an 
answer which included the hospitality of everything in the 
speaker’s room — while a peculiar comfort seemed to be 
derived from a survey in someone else’s mirror. During 
all this quite innocent and heart-whole commotion one little 
body had been patiently running about — helping everyone 
whether w^ith a needed pin, a thread and needle, finding 
a missing fan, or whatever anyone had mislaid, and all 


Burn ENDIGOTTS WAT. 


11 


simply because Ruth Endicott had begged of her to do so. 
She had at first been called the torment of the school — little 
Margaret Powers — because of her rebellious ways and ob- 
jection to anything suggestive of restraint, and from her 
readiness now to wait on everyone had obtained among the 
girls t\\Q sobriquet of “Niggie,” which was really meant 
as a term of endearment — and at present, on the upper cor- 
ridor, “Niggie” should have felt herself rewarded for all 
unselfishness, since the demands for her were almost inces- 
sant. However, the most patient spirit rebels at times, and 
about half-past seven, when there were the first sounds of 
the musicians scraping their instruments below, Margaret 
stopped short in something she was doing, and exclaimed 
to a group of girls not far from Ruth’s room, “I say now, 
girls, will you change all this for a little while if you 
please? Don’t j^ou suppose I intend to gio to the party? 
And look at me! Not even my face and hands washed 
yet !” 

And then Ruth’s door was opened ; her voice broke in 
with: 

‘^Niggie, dear — come and dress in my room, all quietly 
by yourself.” 

And at the same moment Ruth came into the corridor, 
dressed for the ball. 

Various half open doors showed in an instant the occu- 
pants of the rooms within, who were all eager to see 
how the “pride of the school” would appear on this 
supreme occasion, and long afterward the girls who met 
in other scenes used to talk of that moment. Ruth’s 
costume was of absolute girlish simplicity. A white 
gauze over white satin, the filmy lace caught here and 
there by frosted leaves, which glistered as though dew- 
drops clung to them. Her only ornaments were a single 


12 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAT. 


string of pearls about her neck and another in the soft coil 
of her brown hair; and on the wrists of her long Suede 
gloves shone three or four of the odd Oriental bangles her 
father had sent her from India just a year ago. 

A chorus of exclamations went up from the girls. 

“Oh, Ruth, you darling!” “Ruth, you look too sweet 
for anything.” “I shan’t dare to come anywhere near you 
to-night!” 

And from one of the younger girls, “Oh, Ruth! like a 
love, do see that we younger ones aren’t poked off in a 
corner all the evening.” 

Ruth laughed gayly. 

“See here, girls!” she exclaimed. “Let’s make up our 
minds that this is going to be the happiest night of bur 
lives. I know it is! and the best way to take it is for all 
of us to go downstairs when the time comes, and make up 
our minds not to be bothered or anxious about anything, 
but just ready to enjoy everything as it comes. Perhaps 
the old Academy will never know so happy a night 
again.” 

And at this moment the tinkle of Miss Daintrey’s little 
bell sounded. The girls were silent; draperies were care- 
fully lifted as they filed down the stairs, Ruth coming last; 
for she had been desired by the mistress of the school to 
stop in that lady’s own sanctum before going to the large 
drawing-room where the others were to assemble. 

MissfDaintrey was alone, and as Ruth entered she raised 
her eyes from an open letter in her hand to smile a wel- 
come. 

“Well, I declare, Ruth,” she said, putting up her eye- 
glasses to survey her favorite, “your dress is wonderfully 
pretty — and not overdone in any way, and here is a piece 
of news for you which perhaps I ought to keep back, my 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAT, 


13 


love,” added Miss Daintrey, smiling, ‘‘for fear it will 
take all your mind up for the evening.” 

Ruth’s eyes opened widel3^ 

“Why, Miss Daintrey?” she exclaimed. 

“No, no, you shall hear it,” said that lady quickly. 
“Your father is actually on his way here. His vessel is 
in, and he will be here to-morrow.” 

For an instant Ruth turned deathly pale, and she rested 
her hand heavily on a chair near her. But the sort of 
shock was too happy a one to make her give way to that 
first feeling of bewilderment — something like a tightening 
of all the muscles about her very heart. 

The color and look of joyousness came back to her sweet 
young face. 

To-ynorroioP'^ she said softly. “Oh, Miss Daintrey. 
Dare we believe it? My father P'* 

“Yes, my dear; now go and be as happy as a little 
queen to-night, and don’t let thoughts of to-morrow’s 
pleasure interfere with this present enjoyment.” 

But Ruth, as she followed the mistress of the school into 
the large drawing-room, which was already animated and 
made quite brilliant by the gayly dressed house party, 
wondered if it would be a possible thing for her to lose 
sight, even for a moment, of the wonderful happiness in 
store for her. And yet, for some reason Ruth had so 
long accustomed herself to the thought of her father’s 
absence that she could form no picture of what it would 
be like when they were together — what Ae would be like 
was rather more definitely a question in her mind — this 
far-away father of whom she had only the recollections of 
a careless little girl. 


CHAPTER III. 


Miss Daintrey’s “evenings,” as she called her parties, 
were always successful, since their plan was on a generous 
and unselfish basis. People, she argued, gathered together 
on such occasions for relaxation, not “mental improve- 
ment,” and since it was hardly possible that in a friend’s 
drawing-room you would be asked to meet your inferiors, 
she would claim, why let any stiffness or overstraining of 
etiquette mar sociability ; and as a consequence, on this 
occasion, before the fine old-fashioned room w^as half filled, 
the gay voices, merry laughter, general air of good humor 
and kindly feeling made everyone happy and at home. 
And Ruth Endicott, needless to say, beamed with delight, 
lending herself in the sweetest fashion to the happiness of 
all around her — not forgetting Eva Siebel for more than 
ten minutes at a time, looking to little Margaret Powers’ 
well being and enjoyment, and even allowing Mr. Siebel to 
claim her attention while he delivered a pompous oration 
on the subject of his own importance, his gratification 
over all that he saw around him, and his belief that his 
daughter had been properly cared for. 

But I question if our heroine could have been so entirely 
indifferent to her own personal enjoyment, had she not 
carried about with her that wonderful piece of “news,” 
that thought of and for the day when she should see — she 
could almost say meet — her father, since personally they 
knew so little of each other that acquaintance between 
them must be made over again, if not actually begun. 

14 


R UTH END ICO TT WA Y. 


15 


The brightness of the scene about her seemed only like a 
happy setting to her own thoughts, and, as the evening 
sped away, more than one of the guests discussed the 
charm, the innocent delicacy and yet gracious woman- 
liness of the young girl who unquestionably was Miss 
Daintrey’s favorite favored pupil. 

The schoolmistress had been enjoying listening to 
praises of Ruth from an old Scotch ex-colonel, whose 
judgment in matters of breeding and disposition was well 
worth having, when a servant of the house touched her 
arm lightly, motioning her out into the hall. 

‘‘For Miss Endicott, ma’am,” said the girl, handing her 
mistress a slip of paper on which a name was written or 
rather scrawled. “The gentleman’s in the study,” she 
added. 

Miss Daintrey read and reread the name, trying to recall, 
the reason of its familiarity to her mind. Peter Merritt,'^'* 
And suddenly, as though the slide of a magic lantern 
had been drawn back, a picture in the past was revealed to 
her, and she remembered this man’s calling long ago to 
see Ruth, who, he explained, was his cousin by marriage. 
But had he not also said the “families were not very 
intimate?” What then, thought Miss Daintrey, could 
have brought him here at such a time, such an hour; and 
with a sudden dread lest his coming meant bad news for 
her pupil. Miss Daintrey crushed the paper in her hand, 
and without a word to Ruth went out, down the hall and 
into the little so-called “study” — a small book-room not 
opened to the guests that evening. 

Ruth’s visitor was standing on the hearthrug — his hands 
under his coat-tails, his hat still on his head, although tilted 
back, revealing short reddish hair and a large self-satisfied 
countenance, in which a pair of twinkling light blue eyes 


16 


RUTH ENDIC0TT8 WAY, 


looked in some way out of place; the lower part of the 
face denoting anything but good humor, thin but flowing 
side whiskers ‘‘trimming” the florid cheeks. 

As Miss Daintrey appeared, something reminded Mr. 
Merritt of his hat, it would seem, for he removed it with 
one hand, holding the other out with an effusive manner 
to the lady of the house. “Happy to meet you, ma’am,” 
he was beginning, when, apparently aware of something 
calmly searching in Miss Daintrey’s expression, he toned 
his own down, coughed, and waited a moment before he 
spoke again. 

“I don’t like my errand, I can tell you,” he said, 
“although it’s what comes to everyone. May as well 
come to the point” — Miss Daintrey was still waiting — 
dreading,^ she hardly knew what. “My poor cousin’s 
gone — that’s the fact.” 

“ What?'*'* exclaimed the schoolmistress, in a low, horror- 
stricken tone, “you don’t — surely you cari*t mean ” 

Mr. Peter Merritt wagged his head solemnly from side 
to side. 

“Oh, yes, I can — I do,, ma’am, but it’s the way of the 
earth. He’s dead, ma’am, and as good as buried, since he 
died at sea; and I’ve come to break the news.” 

Miss Daintrey sank into a chair, speechless and trem- 
bling. Break the news ! Who break such tidings to 
the joyous, happy girl whose presence had filled the room 
that evening with pleasure for them all — part of her pleas- 
ure looking for the father she was never to see, never to 
“meet” on earth again! It seemed incredible, too awful 
a fact to be true; yet in his rough fashion this man had 
spoken a solemn enough truth, when he said it was but the 
“way of the earth” — and as well the way of Providence. 

“Ruth’s father dead! Died at sea, do you say, Mr. 


RUTH ENDIGOTT S WAY. 


17 


Merritt?” she ashed once again, and, not waiting for liis 
answer, went on hurriedly, roused out of all her usual 
calm, “ Who is to tell her? what shall we do or say ? she 
is in there with all the others, so bright and happy ” 

And then suddenly, by the mere accident of having 
wanted to speak to Miss Daintrey about something and 
gone in search of her, the door was opened by Ruth 
Endicott herself. 

Tlie smile which some latest bit of fun had called up 
still lingered on her lips. Her fair young face was flushed 
and lovelier than ever, and in her beautiful though simple 
evening costume of lace and shining leaves, the girl, as she 
stood there, made a picture which even stirred her cousin’s 
rough nature into forgetfulness of all but what he saw 
before him. 

As for Ruth herself, something — the way in which Miss 
Daintrey was tearfully gazing upon her — a half familiarit}’^ 
with the face and figure of her visitor — gave her one of 
those swift flashes — premonitions we sometimes have of 
evil, which in another instant filled the girl’s mind with 
thoughts of her father. And in the same moment she felt 
M iss Daintrey’s arms closing about her, while Mr. Merritt 
turned resolutely away. 

Poor little Ruth ! Miss Daintrey never quite knew hoio 
they told her the sad piece of news, — or if indeed they did 
ever put it into actual words, — but when her power of 
seeing and hearing seemed to come back to her, sitting on 
the lounge in the book-room with her head on Miss Dain- 
trey's breast, she knew that even across the seas she could 
not think of her father as some day coming home to his 
little girl. No, the meeting-place w'as away beyond. 
Somewhere — in God’s keeping. 

“ Ruth dearest,” said her teacher, bending over her and 


18 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY. 


speaking in a voice infinitely tender, I did not mean tliat 
you should know it so suddenly. But after all ” 

‘‘H’m — h’m — li’m ! ” came from old Merritt, as that 
gentleman turned toward them again, “As you say, ma’am, 
after all it would have to be told one way or another — best 
to hear it from her nearest of kin. Yes, my good girl, that’s 
the fact. Your poor pa’s gone, and we’re about all you 
have left — but we’re a large family — all ready to make you 
one of us.” Mr. Merritt paused, wiped his brow with a 
large red pocket handkerchief, and waited for Ruth’s 
acknowledgment of what he considered a very graceful 
speech, but he might have been quoting from an unknown 
book or speaking a foreign tongue for all the impression he 
made upon her, and she could onlj^ gaze at him in a heli)less 
stricken silence until he concluded his remarks. Miss Dain- 
trey’s mind now turned to the thought as to what effect 
all this would have upon their guests. 

“ What shall we do, dear,” she half whispered, and Ruth 
understood her in an instant. 


CHAPTER lY. 


Ruth begged earnestly that her cousin’s sad intelli- 
gence miglit not be communicated to her companions until 
their guests had left them, or, better, not till the morning, 
and Miss Daintrey could not but allow her to have her own 
way, realizing indeed that Ruth had common-sense as well 
as unselfishness in her feeling; since no one of the invited 
company could be expected to share her grief, and the 
electric wave of compassion sure to pass among her school- 
mates on hearing of their beloved Ruth’s trouble w^ould 
have created only needless excitement — it might be, among 
two or three of the very emotional ones something like 
what the mistress of the house called a ‘^scene,” and 
emphatically detested. 

Sending only a brief word that Ruth Endicott was not 
feeling well, and must be excused. Miss Daintrey herself 
took the girl upstairs and tenderly assisted her to bed, Ruth 
being feverishly anxious that she should hasten down to 
the drawing-room again, lest her absence cause remark. 

But Miss Daintrey had no sooner left her, it seemed to 
Ruth, than a tap sounded on the door and Miss Fellowes, 
the English teacher, was in the room — among all the 
‘‘faculty,” as the girls used among themselves to call the 
teachers, she was the one to whom Ruth was most sym- 
pathetically drawn; something in the thin, kind, sensitive 
face of Harriet Fellowes having from the first attracted 
Ruth, appealing to the higher faculties of her own soul. 
Miss Daintrey had done well in sending Ruth so good a 


19 


20 


RUTH ENDICOTTS WAY. 


consoler, for the hot eyes of the poor child were relieved 
by a burst of tears in Miss Fellowes’ arms, and in a few 
moments Ruth found lierself able to sit up and counsel with 
her as to what she was to do. 

Meanwhile Mr. Merritt was discussing the situation with 
Mrs. Daintrey. 

‘‘You see, ma’am,” he observed, “I’ve come for the girl, 
and I think it’s best for us to take the first train down in 
the morning. I’ve left my grip at the hotel, but I’ll be on 
hand in time — oh, yes, I’ll be on time ! We won’t need any 
one to go along Avith us — but she’ll write 3^011 a postal — I’ll 
see to that — saying she’s safe and sound when we get home. 
We are her only near relatives and she should be in her 
only 

Miss Daintrey’s face had been gradually assuming rigid 
lines during this speech, but upon this it relaxed to betray 
decided annoyance. 

“Ruth can never be more at home, Mr. Merritt,” she ex- 
claimed, “than she is here. We all love her! She is like 
a child of my very own. Among the girls she is like a 
sister, and I trust, when all this sad business is over, we may 
have her among us once again.” 

“Oh — 3^es — ma’am, that’s all very Avell,” said Merritt 
testil}^ “But^^ou see Ruth’s in a different position alto- 
gether just now ! Not to be cooped in a country school 
house, I take it! Why, I’d be afraid to risk an estimate 
at the present speaking of what she’s liable to inherit. 
Alight be in the hundreds of thousands. You see, we’ve 
got to look to \\c\' position! Yes, ma’am — she’s to have a 
chance to see life.” 

“I thiidv I understand,” said Miss Daintrej" slowl}^ and 
not removing her quiet gaze from the flushed face of her 
visitor. He had taken his hat off and now replaced it again 


RUTH ENDIGOTrS WAY. 


21 


at a dangerous angle on his liead. “Since it is likel}^ that 
Ruth will be a rich woman, you feel it 3 "our duty to intro- 
duce her into society.'*'* There was a world of meaning in 
Miss Daintrey’s tone, but shrewd though he might be, Mr. 
Merritt failed to understand it. “ However,” she con- 
tinued, “the poor child for a time will not be able to think 
of any such diversion.” 

“ Oh, in a quiet way — in a quiet way,” said Mr. Merritt. 
He was not eager to prolong a conversation in which he 
was evidently at a disadvantage, and so, with a final 
reminder that he would expect Ruth to be ready to 
“board the 7.30,” he took his departure, infinitely to Miss 
Daintrey’s relief, and none too soon for his own comfort. 
Something about the lady baffled and disconcerted him. 

“She acts as if she thought herself was his 

reflection, as he left the house. “Instead of being only a 
school teacher! That’s the strong-minded woman for 
you ! ” 

There was one comfort, thought Miss Daintre 3 % in 
allowing this disagreeable man to have liis way. The 
sooner all the preliminaries Avere gone through Avith, the 
better, since Ruth would then be free to choose her oavu 
home, and certainly the opinions of a man like this Mer- 
ritt, though he were twenty times her cousin, could not 
influence a girl such as she kncAV Ruth Endicott to be, and 
very soon, thought the schoolmistress, they would have 
their dear child back to them again. It appeared that Mr. 
Merritt did not expect to have any further Imspitality 
offered to him, for he explained he had left his gripsack at 
the hotel before coming up to the school and would hasten 
back there, returning for Ruth at six in the morning so 
that the very earliest train to Noav York might be taken. 

It was this piece of ncAvs which poor Miss FelloAves had 


22 


IIUTH ENDICOrrS WAY, 


to give Ruth, and the kind-hearted woman was relieved 
to find that, since she knew the whole sad truth, Ruth her- 
self was eager to be nearer to those from whom she could 
learn as much as possible concerning her poor father, and 
there certainly was a fitness in her going to her only known 
relations, for a time at least. 

She allowed Miss Fellowes to put away her pretty ball- 
room finery, not wasting a thought as to how the gauze or 
the shining leaves might bo crushed or spoiled, and when 
a second tap at the door admitted little Niggie, she let the 
young girl have her own way in packing up various small 
belongings. 

It was difficult to say just how or from whom Ruth’s 
faithful little slave had learned what had befallen her 
beloved friend, but, having found it out, no fun or gayety 
could have kept the child from Ruth’s side, and she was 
really in this emergency wonderfully practical and useful. 
She knew just where to find everything in the room which 
had been so often her own haven of rest from scenes of 
rebellion in other parts of the house, and she moved about 
in such a gentle fashion that Miss Fellowes, who knew 
the child’s natural unwillingness of spirit and action, and 
who had no particular fondness for her, was inexpressibly 
touched, while it was a comfort to Ruth herself, since well 
she knew that Niggie was performing a work of genuine 
affection. 

At last the gay scene below was ended, and Ruth could 
hear the girls hurrying upstairs, laughing and talking, 
falling into a sudden silence as they passed her door, within 
which they only supposed she was trying to cure a head- 
ache. And then Miss Daintrey reappeared, sitting down 
by her favorite’s side to make their last arrangements and 
say the last words which neither of them of course con- 


BUTE ENDICOTTS WAT. 


23 


sidered in any sort good-by. Suddenly a little shriek from 
Niggie revealed her presence and the fact that she realized 
Ruth was to leave them, and to comfort the child Ruth 
begged that she might be allowed to remain with her for 
the night, assuring her that she would see her again 
almost before she realized that she had even gone away. 

‘‘But if it’s never., dear, dear Ruth,” declared Niggie; 
“I don’t know how I’ll bear it; it’ll make me die, die, c7^6.” 

Poor Ruth! When, fully an hour later, she fell asleep 
with the child’s hand clasped tightly in both of hers, she 
could not guess what the friendship she had so generously 
bestowed upon the little “butt” of the school was to mean 
to her in days to come. 

It was, perhaps, quite as well that Mr. Merritt’s plans 
were for so early an hour of departure that there were no 
general leave-takings between Ruth and her companions. 
Miss Daintrey, Miss Fellowes, and Niggie were the only 
ones, excepting one or two of the servants, as yet acquainted 
with the cause of Mr. Merritt’s visit, and the fact that 
Ruth was to leave them for a little while. But these 
friends our heroine strained her eyes to see the last of 
through a mist of tears, as she drove from the long-familiar 
doorway in the early morning, ignoring the fact that Mr. 
Merritt was pompously uttering truisms on the subject of 
resignation, courage, bracing up, etc. His voice sounded 
as if it might have been ten yards distant for all the 
impression made upon the girl by his meaningless words, 
and only when she had to face him again and drew down 
her veil to hide her tearful face from everyone’s view, did 
she realize how intensely she disliked the first representa- 
tive of her family she had seen in so many years. But 
the fact lent her a sort of courage, since she determined 
not to allow such a man to witness her emotion, or talk to 


24 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAT, 


her upon such a sacred subject as lier grief for the shadowy 
something, the ideal of a parent, whom she had lost. 
Accordingly, when they were seated in the drawing-room 
car, where, in order to do everything first-class,” Mr. 
Merritt had very ostentatiously secured a compai’tment, 
Ruth aroused Iierself to accept his attentions and 
friendly offices witli a composed dignity of manner which 
impressed him greatly. He had feared hysterics or some 
such demonstration of her grief, and that slie betra3^ed her 
feelings only by her almost marble like pallor and air 
of perfect quiescence made him respect her, and the 
way in which she strove to seem interested in what he had 
to say roused him to new efforts and increased volubility. 
There was no need, however, to simulate the feeling, when, 
after acknowledging that there had been some slight bitter- 
ness between himself and her father, he said he had known 
her mother well in her younger daj’s, and slie had fre- 
quently visited his father-in-law’s house. 

Yes, ma’am,” he declared, slapping his knee with one 
fat hand. ‘‘ She used to be there many a time and oft, when 
we were all young, and she was a slip of a girl and a very 
good-looking girl, too, let me tell you. There was a time 
when I was tempted to ask her myself,” — Ruth winced, — 
“ but she was too softish and dainty in her ways, I guess, for 
me ; better off as I am. She just suited your pa, being one 
of the kind to shrink and drop her eyes, and give riglit in 
if the second quick word was said to her. Now, yoic look 
as if you’d spunk up before you’d see yourself trod upon. 
It’s an iron hand in a little velvet glove, I suspect ! ” 

Mr. Merritt laughed heartily at his own aptness, and 
Ruth, lest she be called upon to speak, answered by a faint 
smile, which was the only encouragement he seemed to 
need, for he went as fluently as before. 


BUTII ENDIGOTrS WAY. 


25 


“You’ll have to take us as you find us, my dear. 
We’re only a plain family — very plain.” (Ruth could not 
help reflecting that if the term applied to their looks^ she 
would not be at all surprised.) “ We never set up for 
anything like style or fashion, except in the way of the 
girls’ dress, you might say. They'^d have the newest be- 
fanglement or die for not getting it. If it’s ribbons 
down their backs, they’ve got to have them ten yards 
long ; if it’s high collars, they must have them over their 
ears, and just now it’s tan shoes ! I declare, I’m sick 
of the sight of them ! Calico shirt waists, sleeves like 
balloons, and footing it off with yellow slioes !. Anyhow, 
I tell Susan, my wife, there is no such great harm in that ; 
it’s a kind of thing that wears itself out in time. Well — 

"well — well ” He actually paused for a full nnnute, 

gazed out of the window, then turned his large, reddish, 
blond face back to Ruth again and continued : 

“ Yes, you’ll find tis, as I sa}^ a plain jolly sort of a 
family. Oh, well, you needn’t be too jolly all of a sudden, 
my dear. I didn’t mean that exactly. But when you’re 
ready to get roused up a bit, my young people will do 
you no end of good.” 

“Are there many of them?” enquired Ruth, mentally 
recoiling still further and furtlier from the prospect before 
her. But Mr. Merritt evidently considered the enquiry a 
fresh sign of interest, and was delighted to continue his 
picture of family life. He held up one large fat hand and 
prepared to dock them off. 

“Well, let’s see.” His thumb was waved toward Ruth. 
“We’ll begin at the beginning. There’s Peter, the 
Second, as we call him, named for me. He’s the first, as it 
should be — a boy. He’s just twenty — yes, sir, I was keep- 
ing — well, I had an interest in a stand at Washington 


26 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAY. 


Market, time he came to town, just twenty 3’ears ago, and 
my partner sa^^s : Merritt, says he — ^"ou’ve done pretty 
well this 3^ear at tlie old stand, why not give all things 
their due and name the child for the place, and the father 
of his country, so we called him Peter Washington — neat, 
wasn’t it ? Simmons, my pard, opened a doz. of oysters 
each, and tapped a keg of beer to honor the choice, and 
Peter Washington needn’t be ashamed of the one tliat 
christened him for he put a hundred dollars in safe keep- 
ing till he turns his twentj^-first. Then, there’s Lucilla — 
she was the first girl, didn’t care since Peter came first — 
just as lief have a girl as not. She’s eighteen — just a 
proper match for 3^011, and I tell 3^011 when it comes to looks 
as I say to my wife, they’ve got their father to thank for 
something, ’Cilia, she’s the musical one, and I say, she’d 
ought to be, for every piece that girl has learned has cost 
me a cool ten dollars. Then we come along to Samuel. 
Well, sir, he’s sixteen past and stud3nng to be an M. 
D., if 3"ou please, already — at home, of course — and sa3^s 
he could poison the whole family and never be hung for 
it, so 1 tell him when he puts out his shingle it can be a 
little further down the street and he needn’t answer any 
calls from liome. Then there’s Katie — slie’s just a plain 
little body, not much to her one way or the other, but I 
guess she’ll come out all right. And there’s Master 
William, who just paints the town red, I can tell 3"ou. 
Now I’ve come down to the whole but the one that we’ve 
got to be proudest of all. Aint that what they say of the 
last baby? And if ours is delicate” — the man’s gay, 
bantering tone involuntarily changed, and a shade crossed 
his face which made Ruth like it better — “little Ruth, 
you see she was named like yourself, but not for one of 
the family, is as sweet a little creature as you’d find in a 


RUTH ENDICOTTS WAT, 


2-7 


day’s walk. The fact of the matter is, 'we christened her 
on a sort of a patriotic Stars and Stripes principle. I said 
I guessed what was good enough for Grover was good 
enough for yours truly.” 

Ruth was compelled to smile, whereupon Mr. Merritt 
nodded his head and laughed aloud. 

“That’s me every time,” he continued. “Oh, I make 
things hum, I can tell you. Well, now, I guess I’ve summed 
them all up.” His expression changed a very little, and 
the look Ruth had not liked came back, as he went on, 
“well, there’s just one other person, and I might as well 
tell you not to bother your head about her, for she isn’t 
any consequence as long as she keeps out of the way. 
It’s a relation of mine, an elderly woman, whom I took 
home out of charity, when she hadn’t any other place to 
go to; but, great Scott! for a moper and a piner you 
never saw that woman’s equal. She’ll catch on to you, 
if 3^011 don’t look out.” 

“An old lad}^, did you say?” enquired Ruth, with 
interest. 

“Oh, well, yes! oldish^ that is,” he answered. “Any- 
how it’s a good while ago since an3^body called her young. 
She was pretty well oif at one time, and then she lost eveiy- 
thing, and it seemed to sour her, so she drifted about 
until 1 gave her a home. Oh, she aint much in the way,” 
he added, as though feeling the presence of this unwel- 
come guest might offend Ruth in some fashion, and his 
whole plan now was to propitiate her. She’s got a little 
room by herself upstairs, and she knows enough to stay 
there most of the time.” 

“I should hardly think ventured Ruth, in a grave 
voice, and with a slightly perceptible curl of the lip, ’‘Hhat 
would be giving her much of what you might call a home,'''* 


28 


Burn EiwicoTrs v/ay. 


‘‘What — what’s that?” demanded Mr. Merritt sharply. 
“Why, she ought to he thankful; she’d be in the poorliouse 
if it wasn’t for that. Aint she got her bed to lie down on 
and her three meals a day to eat? No, no, my dear! you 
wait till you get to be my age, and you’ll know how to 
make people grateful for their fire and victuals, as you 
might say, and not make ’em look out for a brownstone 
front on Fifth Avenue.” 

A lull in the conversation, or it might better be called, 
Mr. Merritt’s monologue, now occurred, whether from the 
fact that he had exhausted his eloquence or felt slightly 
irritated by Ruth’s half-expressed criticism on his ideas 
of what giving a home implied. At all events, he settled 
himself in his corner, took out the daily paper, and began 
to read, while Ruth rested her cheek against her hand, and, 
leaning against the cushion, let her eyes wander to the 
fleeting landscape, taking in an impression of the objects, 
the richly varied New England country, without realizing 
in the slightest degree what she was seeing, while her actual 
thoughts — those governed by the quick, painful heart- 
beats she felt now and then — were on a very different sub- 
ject. How was she to face this totally unexpected, un- 
thought-of, unprecedented phase in her young life ? What 
forces had she, or could she muster, to oppose anything 
difficult if not actually unendurable in the life before her? 
For, with the quick transition of a youthful mind, the girl 
had allowed herself to sink from the state of exultant 
security she had been in but a few days previous to one in 
which she seemed to see nothing but drift^vood from the 
home she had planned in which she and her father were to 
realize an Arcadia of their own. 


CHAPTER V. 


Ruth could scarcely have told herself, even a few hours 
later, how the remainder of that strange journey passed. 
She was conscious of the passing country, of the occasional 
movements back and forth of people on the train; of the 
compartment in one corner of which she sat motionless, 
yet with every nerve tingling and awake, and of the bulky 
form of her companion opposite, but all as though they 
were part of an unhappy dream; and it was a relief, 
although it meant facing her strange relations, to find 
at last that the train was speeding through the tunnels 
into the great city, and then Mr. Merritt was springing 
to his feet, gathering up their various small belongings, and 
Ruth found herself being bustled out into the chill air of 
the afternoon, thence around to the waiting-room where 
Mr. Merritt, once more merely a business New Yorker, 
bade her sit down while he attended to the luggage. It 
was only a little trunk which she had brought for so short 
a trip, but it seemed to Ruth, listless as she felt, that it 
took him a long time to discover it. 

She had been perfectly indifferent to all the minor details 
of this journey, w’hose supreme motive was so absorbing; 
but now a sort of nervous condition seemed to have been 
reached in which the very noises of the busy town, the 
sight of so many people coming and going, jarred upon her 
painfully and gave her a strange realization that she was 
in trouble and anxious to be out of sight of the crowded 
world. It mattered nothing to her what mode of convey- 
ance was taken, although Mr. Merritt fidgeted consider- 

29 


30 


RUTH ENDICOTT^ 8 WAY, 


ably while he discussed it. He pushed his hat back further 
and further on his head, insisting that if she wanted a cab 
she had only to say the word, but at last Ruth made a 
little desperate motion of her own toward the door, and 
seizing her grip and umbrella he followed her lead, hailing 
a car, and then drawing back as a cabman approached, 
reflecting that after all it would be better to have such 
an important personage as Ruth Endicott remember how 
thoroughly attentive he had been on her first journey under 
his care. 

Once they were seated within the vehicle, Mr. Merritt 
allowed himself to lean back in peace of mind for a few 
moments, as it was obvious no change in their plans could 
be made now, and Ruth turned her gaze toward the win- 
dow, devoutly hoping that the noise of the cobblestones 
would drown any desire he might have to talk. 

But in this she found herself mistaken, for Mr. Merritt 
had a few final remarks to make before ushering her into 
his family circle, and he began with a little warning 
cough : 

‘‘You see, my dear, we haven’t a house of our own, nor 
yet do we live in a flat, nor exactly in rooms” — as he paused 
Ruth, in spite of her depression, could not resist a smile, 
wondering whether he meant her to infer they occupied 
stairways, or possibly balconies, but he continued after a 
moment’s reflection: “A flat to accommodate our family 
couldn’t be had at a figure I would pay, and a house wasn’t 
needed, so we compromised matters and took two floors 
in a dwelling house.” 

“Tiresome man,” thought Ruth, “what difference on 
earth do you suppose it will make to me, and why couldn’t 
you have said in the beginning, simply, ‘We have two 
floors of a private house ’ ? ” 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


31 


But aloud she said politely: 

“Oh, indeed! that must be very nice.” 

“Well, I don’t know; it is and it isn’t,” said Mr. 
Merritt. “It’s the first floor and the third, and you see 
there’s a gap between.” 

Again Ruth’s mind would work fantastically, and 
imagine the family obliged to fling themselves from one 
part of their abode to the other and be shot in some mys- 
terious manner up again, and she said quietly: 

“But I suppose there’s a staircase between.” 

“What’s that? what’s that?” he demanded quickly. 
“Oh, yes! oh, of course! and the people on the other 
floor never bother us. Well, 3^ou’ll have a nice room, for 
the time being, all to yourself; I’ve seen to that, and 
when you’re rested to-morrow we will take a little trip 
down to Mr. Pearson’s office, and he will talk business 
over with 3"ou. I guess he’ll find Peter Merritt isn’t the 
one to let the grass grow under his feet, and as I said, 
we’re your nearest of kin and the ones for you to come to.” 

Ruth could only smile faintly in assent, for these details 
were of no importance to her mind. Very soon, wdien the 
tiresome business matters were at an end, she would get 
away and hasten back to Miss Daintrey once again. 

As they turned a street corner with a jerk, Mr. Merritt 
began an eager preparation to leave the vehicle, although 
their destination was midway down the block, a small 
four-story brick dwelling, perfectly negative and uninter- 
esting in appearance. Dingy and common looking, Ruth 
thought, as she alighted, standing still wdiile Mr. Merritt 
paid the cabman, helped him down with the trunk, and 
then, motioning her to follow, ran up the short flight of 
stone steps, opening the door with his latchke3^ 

Ruth followed into a shabby hallway whei'e odors 


32 


BUTII ENDICOirS WAY, 


of cooking were faintly discernible, and again she 
wailed while Mr. Merritt disappeared down the base- 
ment stairs. As she stood there a sudden complete 
revulsion of feeling came over her — the same sensa- 
tion which she had experienced on first encountering 
this unknown connection of her mother’s. Something 
depressing, uncongenial in every way, was there in the 
very effort at decoration in the hallway — the dusty, half- 
swept staircase, the broken down hat-rack against which 
she was leaning, filled her with something like disgust, 
since, if these were the outward tokens, what could 
the inner life of the family be? Fortunately our heroine 
had little time for reflections of the kind, as the sound 
of several footsteps came following upon those of 
Mr. Merritt, and in a moment she was being shaken 
hands with by a stout, very blond, rather good-looking 
middle-aged woman, who, she was told, was her cousin 
Susan. 

A tall, showily dressed young man was slapped on the 
back by his father, who observed, “Peter the Second, 
here’s your cousin Ruth Endicott,” and a girl of about 
her own age, not unattractive in appearance, but unmis- 
takably vulgar, kissed her affectionately, and she heard 
someone saying that this was Lucilla. 

Ruth felt once again as if she was in a queer dreamland, 
but Mrs. Merritt, who smiled a great deal and kept up a 
little purring sound of “ah — ah — ah,” looked on approv- 
ing, while Mr. Merritt told Lucilla to take her cousin 
upstairs. 

Ruth thought later that, had the staircase been wide 
enough, Lucilla would have led her up with her arm about 
her waist, from the little gesture w^hich she made; but as 
it was, she was allowed to walk up by herself after Miss 


nUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


33 


Merritt, who opened the door of a front room on the 
second story into which she conducted Ruth, beginning to 
talk very fast as she did so. 

“Well, I say, you’ve got here at last,” she exclaimed, 
giving a little pull out to this chair and a push back to 
the other, while Ruth sank down into the corner of an old 
sofa. “I wish you could see the fidget we’ve been in 
ever since pa went away. We were just dead sure they 
wouldn’t let you come. W’ell, now, I guess I’ll leave you 
to get your things off and think of hurrying up tea. Pa’ll 
be just wild. He has to be fed the minute he’s in the 
house.” 

And with a little laugh, and a scrutiny of herself in the 
mirror, Lucilla left the room. 

It was the first moment Ruth had found herself alone 
since she had left Miss Daintrey’s, and for a time she sat 
there absolutely motionless, trying, as it were, to get her 
bearings — to piece things together in her mind, to realize 
just what had brought her here, what had happened. 
Could it be that only four-and-twenty hours ago she had 
been the leader in Miss Daintrey’s happy household, a 
girl who was so envied for her light-heartedness, her gay, 
bright hopes of life, and her complete sense of freedom 
from all that was tiresome or oppressive in the order of 
events or details of daily life? She rose, feeling dull and 
stupid, and mechanically went over to the bureau, looking 
at herself in the long glass above its marble top. The 
sight of her own face startled her. Every bit of color had 
gone from her cheeks; her eyes had an unnatural bright- 
ness about them, but were circled with heavy rings that 
made them haggard, and when she removed her hat her 
very hair seemed to have lost its lustre. But even this 
mechanical study of herself roused the girl back to some- 


34 


RUTH ENDIGOTT'8 WAT. 


thing like her own natural energy, and, with a mental pull- 
ing of herself together, she went into the dressing-closet, 
to at least wash her face and hands. It is true that when 
she opened the door, several queer-looking bundles seemed 
to tumble out of the place, but she found the washing- 
stand, and before Lucilla’s step was heard along the passage 
she had removed some of the traces of travel, and had 
decided swiftly that, uncomfortable as everything in the 
house might be, she could only make the best of it for a 
day or two, and certainly nothing but kindness, thought 
Ruth, could have prompted their inviting her. 

“Well, you’re fine and ready,” said Lucilla approv- 
ingly, and looking not without admiration upon her 
strange cousin’s delicately high-bred face and graceful 
figure; “now, then, I guess you’d better come right along 
downstairs, ma says, and have some supper.” 

Once more Ruth felt herself in that absolutely quiescent 
frame of mind which made it seem impossible even to 
answer, and allowed Lucilla to hold her hand quite affec- 
tionately until again the narrowness of the staircase 
obliged them to go down in single file. 

Lucilla hummed a gay little air as she led her guest 
down the lower stairs and into the dining-room of the 
basement floor, called such, I must admit, more by courtesy 
than distinction, since it was employed as the general liv- 
ing-room of the family. Besides those members of the 
household whom Ruth had already seen, there was a boy 
of perhaps sixteen, who stopped whistling as the girls 
entered, to be introduced by Mrs. Merritt, with a ])leasant 
smile, as “our Sammy.” Ruth, acknowledging the fact, 
let her eyes wander to a quiet figure in the window — a lady 
somewhat past middle age, with a face which attracted her 
at once. Whether it was patience or only dignity, that 


RUTH ENDIGOTT*S WAY, 


35 


gave the tranquil features their look of refinement, it was 
hard to say, but something lent it a charm to the young 
girl, who at once concluded that this was the member of 
the family who had to be “given a home,” but was con- 
siderate enough, as a rule, according to Mr. Merritt, to 
keep herself out of the way. The old lady — Ruth called 
her so, although she was scarcely past middle age — made 
a little half movement forward, when Mr. Merritt said 
quickly: 

. “Oh, well, yes. Cousin Jane — Miss Endicott, or Ruth, I 
think I’ll call you, this is a sort of relation of mine, Mrs. 
Chesley. Now, then; now, then!” he added briskly, 
motioning the family toward the table, and Ruth observed 
that Mrs. Chesley took a place which could hardly have 
been comfortable, wedged in between the two younger 
members of the party, who immediately lifted knives and 
forks and looked ready for the fray. 

If anyone had asked her an hour or a week later of what 
that meal consisted Ruth would have found it impossible 
to describe a single dish. She knew that there seemed a 
great many things at once, served in a fashion to which 
she was totally unaccustomed; that everybodj^” seemed 
eager to be helped and too busy to attend to anyone else’s 
wants, in consequence of which there were various jerk- 
ings of sleeves and whispers of “Give me this,” or 
“that”; knives and forks were rattled and teacups passed 
up and down, while, for a few moments at least, Mr. 
Merritt’s eloquence was silenced. But his appetite some- 
what appeased, he roused himself and talked above the 
general clatter, addressing liimself to no one in particular, 
but describing their journey much as though he had been 
to California. While this was going on Ruth, who 
could only make a faint pretence of eating, took occasion 


36 


BUTII ENBICOTTS WAY, 


to observe her new relations a trifle more critically and to 
take in a general idea of her surroundings. 

No doubt, taken as a whole, by a certain class of critics 
they would have been considered a fine-looking, suffi- 
ciently smart set of young people, and the little girl, 
although rather pert in expression, had a face which 
showed nice feeling and intelligence. The baby of the 
household, Ruth had not seen. Peter the Second, who 
was evidently regarded as a specimen of manly excel- 
lence by the whole family as well as himself, Ruth 
decided was simply odious; Sammy, apparently a lively 
imitation of his brother; Lucilla capable, she suspected, 
of something better than the little airs and graces 
with which she seemed to think it necessary to even hand 
the butter dish; while Mrs. Merritt could not be criticised, 
since it was only too evident the cares of life sat so lightly 
upon her — she was so proud of her husband and contented 
with her lot in life that compassion for her, as the head 
of such a noisy household, would have been quite thrown 
away. And then Ruth’s eyes came back again to the 
patient face of the old lady, Mrs. Chesley, who, she 
regretted, was placed opposite at the lower end of the table, 
or she could have ventured to see that she was somewhat 
better cared for. Their eyes met and Ruth involuntarily 
smiled, while a look of wistful, almost tearful, pleasure 
sprang into the widow’s faded face, and within herself 
Ruth Endicott decided that this member of the family 
should have her first attention. 

Mr. Merritt’s narrative, having detailed the luxury with 
which they travelled in a parlor car, the number of 
people on the train, which he evidently considered a more 
or less distinguished circumstance, the food they had con- 
sumed and the curious length of time the train stopped at 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


37 


this place or that, reached at last their arrival in New 
York, when he went on to say, with growing pride, “Yes, 
of course I took a cab; it’s really the only way. You 
can’t stand around halloing at every other conductor. 
Oh, not at all; not at all for yours truly; and I thought 
Miss Endicott — Ruth here,” he added, with a bland smile, 
“would enjoy having a little sj)in in one of our New York 
hacks. Coming right from the country, you know.” 

Again Ruth found herself only able to smile faintly in 
return. She wondered whether Mr. Merritt talked so in- 
cessantly all the time at home, or if he detailed every inci- 
dent of his life on his return to the family circle as copi- 
ously. It certainly ought to give them a lesson in fluency 
and declamation, if nothing else. But at last the tiresome 
meal was ended, and when they rose from the table the girl 
was looking so really wearied that Mr. Merritt forgot the 
final period of his discourse to exclaim: 

“Miss Endicott looks pretty well played out, and I 
guess she’d rather go up to her own room than anything 
else.” 

Whereupon Lucilla offered at once to take her up again. 

It was with a feeling of unspeakable relief, although 
thoroughly depressed by everything about her and all that 
she had seen of the only relations whom she believed that 
she possessed, that Ruth found herself once more in the 
solitude of her own chamber, where Lucilla, having lighted 
the gas, considerately left her alone. Her trunk had 
arrived, and she was busy taking out her dressing-gown 
and toilet articles, etc., when a light tap sounded at the 
door, and she turned to admit old Mrs. Chesley, who 
came in, saying quietly: 

“You don’t mind a little visit from me, dear, do you? 
I mightn’t get the chance again.” 


38 


BUTE ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


‘‘No, no, indeed!” exclaimed Ruth warmly, and taking 
the widow’s hands in both of hers, she led her to the old 
sofa, which was really, no doubt, more comfortable in its 
condition of dilapidation than it had been when new and 
wiry. “Do sit down there,” the young girl continued, 
“while I unpack my trunk.” 

Mrs. Chesley sank down into the corner, resting het head 
on her hand and watching Ruth with evident pleasure as 
the young girl took out the few articles from her small 
trunk, laying them tidily together. Her face had lost 
some of the nervously anxious look which had deepened 
on it during supper-time, and when Ruth would show 
her one article after another the quickly pleased expres- 
sion which lighted her tired eyes made the young girl 
understand how very few pleasures or even attentions her 
lonely life contained. 

“There now,” said Ruth at last, springing to her feet, 
able for the first time to forget her own misery in the 
desire to amuse her companion, “do you think I’m a 
regular old maid, Mrs. Chesley, to have brought so many 
things just for a day or two?” 

“But I thought!” exclaimed Mrs. Chesley, “you were 
going to stay altogether. That’s what they’ve been talk- 
ing about.” 

“What — I?” exclaimed Ruth, the color flying into her 
cheeks; “what an absurd idea! I have only come down 
here to find out all about my poor father’s business and — 
everything, and then go back to Miss Daintrey’s.” 

“Of course I don’t know,” said the old lady hur- 
riedly; “I don’t know. It’s only from all they were 
saying downstairs last night. You were to come and 
live here.” 

Ruth drew back a step or two, a smile of absolute in- 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY, 


39 


credulity spreading over her face, while for an instant she 
remained speechless. 

“Why, Mrs. Cheslej^,” she exclaimed, “there’s nothing 
on earth would induce me to do it. Oh,” she added, 
with a peculiar uplifting of her head which even Miss 
Daintrey knew well as a danger signal, “I wonder they 
should even dream of such a thing. Who or what do they 
think I am?” 

She stopped short and began to laugh at having even 
considered the question seriously for an instant. No 
doubt, she reflected, they had meant it in a kindly way 
after all, and of course it was hardly natural that they 
should see how entirely unsuitable such an arrangement 
would be. 

‘‘Imagine,” thought Ruth, going back to her trunk 
again, “what it would be to eat supper three hundred and 
sixty-five times in a year as we did to-night. Or perhaps 
they call it dinner.” Had there been the slightest evi- 
dence of poverty in the household the girl would have 
accepted everything with a generous spirit of assimilation, 
and overlooked it even had they all eaten with spoons in- 
stead of knives and forks. But the Merritt menage was 
evidently amply provided for, from a pecuniary point of 
view — its shortcomings were the result only of selfishness 
and vulgarity. That tiresome, discursive paterfamilias, 
rolling forth sentence after sentence while the young 
people about him simply devoured their meal or indulged 
in whispered asides! What a family circle! To belong 
to it, thought Ruth, would be hard enough, though prob- 
ably in such a case she would never have known its dis- 
crepancies. But to voluntarily enter it of one’s own 
accord! Again Ruth gave a soft little laugh, the com- 
plete absurdity of the idea overcoming her. 


40 


BUTE ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


“Do you use these things every day?” she heard Mrs. 
Chesley say, and looked around to see her companion admir- 
ingly gazing upon her large toilet-case, which contained 
every variety of article, delicately mounted in silver and 
ivory. It chanced to be as complete an outfit of the kind 
as the heart of modern maiden could desire, and had been 
the admiration even of the few girls at Miss Daintrey’s 
known as the Sybarites from their indulgence in so many 
little luxuries of the kind. Miss Daintrey had not always 
interfered in this, considering that it aided the girls in 
delicacy and neatness of the toilet, and, she would argue, 
no girl who has her dressing-table daintily arranged would 
think of leaving her hands uncared for or her hair untidy. 
It would be a satire upon itself. Mrs. Chesley lifted one 
of the pretty articles after another, now and then appeal- 
ing to Ruth for an explanation of their uses, which she 
was in the midst of giving, kneeling down by the old 
lady’s side, when a knock at the door was followed by 
Lucilla’s entrance. 

At sight of the tableau before her — Mrs. Chesley bend- 
ing over the large satin-lined case, Ruth on her knees be- 
side her — Miss Merritt stood still for an instant, not know- 
ing just what to say or do, or whether to be angry or only 
amused. She laughed first, and then her eyes flashed. 

“This sort of thing won’t do at all,” she reflected, and 
she said aloud: 

“Well, now, here. Cousin Jane, I guess it’s about your 
bedtime, isn’t it? and you ought to let Ruth get to bed 
early herself.” 

The old lady’s hands trembled, and she rose as though 
under martial orders. 

“Why, yes, dear,” she said faintly, “I suppose it is. I 
only just was sitting here a little while.” 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY. 


41 


^‘Wellj I guess you’ve stayed long enough, then,” said 
Lucilla, who had come up herself for a little chat with 
their visitor. 

Buth rose to her feet, observing quietly: 

“Mrs. Chesley and I were having a very nice talk 
together, but I’m sorry if I have kept her up too 
late.” 

“Oh, it isn’t you,” said Lucilla quickly. She flung 
a look of mingled scorn and contempt at Mrs. Chesley 
from behind her back, but it was meant for Ruth 
to see. 

“You’ll have to put a stop to that sort of thing, my 
dear,” said Lucilla, coming back to Ruth, when she had 
seen her elderly relative safely out of the door, “or she’ll 
just bother your life out. But I’m sure I never thought 
she’d be quite as forward as all that. Fancy her coming 
in here all of herself. Just wait till I get a chance to 
tell pa!” 

“Don’t, I beg of you, don’t,” exclaimed Ruth ear- 
nestly; “why, I like to have her! It really did me good, 
Lucilla, and I should be very vexed if I thought anything 
of the kind was, as you say, complained of to your 
father.” 

Lucilla hesitated a moment, regarding her guest with a 
curious expression. It was evident she had not as yet 
fathomed Ruth Endicott’s nature. Had she put her feel- 
ing into words, or discussed it with Peter, it would prob- 
ably have been expressed in the query, “I wonder what 
she’s up to ? ” For what possible pleasure could there be 
in letting a tiresome old woman like Cousin Jane look at 
one’s finery. But Miss Merritt was well aware she knew 
very little of her new cousin, so she allowed the subject to 
drop, and taking Mrs. Chesley ’s place on the sofa, drew 


42 


BUTE ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


the toilet-case unceremoniously on her knees, investigating 
everything critically, trying one polisher after another, 
while Ruth made haste to rearrange the articles she had 
taken from her trunk, relieved that Lucilla had such a con- 
genial occupation that there was no necessity for stimulat- 
ing conversation. 


CHAPTER VI. 

‘‘Are you going to unpack all your trunk to-night ? ” 
demanded Lucilla. 

Ruth looked up and smiled. 

“Oh, just a few things I may need,” she answered. “I 
was laying them out” — and she began to arrange them as 
tidily as she could on the overcrowded bureau, Lucilla 
watching her with a feeling half of admiration, half of 
surprise. As Ruth said nothing further, Lucilla went on: 

“ You and pa are going down to see the lawyer, I believe, 
to-morrow, but 1 just now heard pa saying he thought 
maybe he’d go alone.” 

“Did he?” enquired Ruth carelessly. 

She turned now and seated herself in a chintz-covered 
easy chair, while Lucilla continued : 

“I want to tell you one thing: don’t you let Cousin Jane 
bother you, or she’ll just worry your life out. You know, 
we only have to give her a home; she used to be very well 
off, but she lost everything, and pa took pity on her and 
just brought her here; but we found after a while we had 
to keep her from bothering or she’d want to stay around 
and talk and act just as if she was one of — well, just as 
good as anybody.” 

“And isn’t she?” demanded Ruth, with difficulty re- 
straining her feeling of indignation. 

“Well, yes, I suppose so,” said Lucilla quickly, her 
cheeks. coloring as she half understood the rebuke Ruth 
intended to convey; “but you see how it is— she was 

43 


44 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAT, 


alwa^^s used to a good deal, and she doesn’t understand 
now that she is poor and nobody at all; she ought to be 
thankful for what she’s got.” 

Ruth made no answer; in fact, what could she say in 
the face of views so thoroughly different from her own? 
Presently Lucilla continued : 

“I suppose you’ll be setting up for a very grand lady, 
Ruth, after a while, won’t you?” She w^aited for no 
answer, but went on: “Isn’t it queer we never knew you 
before, and yet your mother was ma’s cousin ? Ma has 
just been talking about it downstairs.” 

“Has she?” exclaimed Ruth, with real interest. “I 
knew my mother and yours were cousins, but — you 
see, I heard very little about any member of her 
family.” 

Lucilla laughed. 

“Perhaps we weren’t considered good enough for you, 
but anyway I guess it was something — some sort of 
quarrel there was between your father and mine. -Any- 
how, as soon as pa found out about everything — wh}^ 
then, he took things in his own hands. I can tell you he 
is not one to let the grass grow under his feet. You’ll 
have a lovely time, if you sta^’^ in New York,” she rattled 
on, going from one subject to another. “If you had only 
been here in the summer we could have taken you to lots 
of places; but in the winter there is quite a good deal of 
fun. Oh, I forgot!” she added, stopping suddenly, and as 
Ruth said nothing the silence lasted for more than three 
minutes, when Lucilla arose, saying: 

“Got everything you want? Well, I hope you’ll sleep 
nicely.” 

Ruth also rose to her feet and looked around, saying as 
gently as possible : 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


45 


“Yes, I think I shall be very comfortable, thank you. 
What time do you take breakfast?” 

“Ob, most any time after pa’s up,” answered Lucilla. 
“I guess it will be early to-morrow morning, because he is 
in such a fuss to go down-town. Sam always has to be 
away by seven o’clock, so we don’t count on him.” 

There was a pause, and then Lucilla said a little awk- 
Avardly : 

“Well, then, good-night.” 

“Good-night,” answered Ruth, still trying to smile. 

The door closed and Ruth as hastily as possible made 
preparations for bed. She felt as though, once in the dark- 
ness and alone, she might think things out a little more 
clearly, or at least make some plan for her immediate 
future. But even after she had said her prayers more fer- 
vently than ever the girl lay still wide awake in the dark- 
ness of her room, thinking, thinking, thinking — unable 
quite to understand the full meaning of all that had 
happened to her. A feeling possessed her that she must 
repress any outward show of emotion, and indeed of per- 
sonal sorrow, for the loss of her father. She was hardly as 
conscious of her loss as of that opportunity she had hoped 
for to make a home with him where they should learn to 
know and care for each other. It was the awakening from 
a dream which hurt her, more than the sense that she had 
lost something actual in life, and for her material future of 
course she need have no dread. The question which she 
was puzzling over now was. What to do with herself in the 
future. She would, she concluded, have some sort of a 
guardianship; but she was a woman grown; she had so 
long taken the lead in things at Miss Daintrey’s that she 
had acquired, or rather cultivated, the instinct within 
herself for fearlessness and self-control, for an independ- 


46 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


eiice of spirit and self-reliance, which, but for the gener- 
ous sweetness of her nature, might have made her very 
domineering. But if Ruth had been a ruler it had 
been through love of her subjects, and one and all had 
known that she cared far more for their interests than 
her own. Naturally enough her thoughts reverted to the 
schoolmates she had left. She wondered what the girls 
would think if they could have witnessed the experi- 
ences of this evening — if they could have seen their 
overfastidious, hypercritical Ruth at that supper-table, 
welcomed as a relative as well as a guest — if they could 
meet Peter the Second, for instance, at one of the soirees. 
Ruth shuddered. Had she found her relations only plain, 
uneducated, poor people, she would not have felt ashamed. 
But to find them well to do and yet so self-conscious, 
ostentatious, and underbred — this seemed more than the 
girl could bear, realizing that, apart from them, she knew 
of no family ties. One figure alone, out of the new ones 
in this group, impressed her as something hopeful, and 
that was the despised, pushed-aside Cousin Jane. 

‘‘Never mind,” thought Ruth to herself; “they may say 
or do what they like; I will be a friend to her, and if I 
have any influence she shall not be treated in this 
fashion.” 

Letting her thoughts wander still further, she wondered 
where or how she should make her home; for home of some 
kind, when she left Miss Daintrey’s within a few months, 
the girl was determined to have. There must be a 
place for little Niggie, who should at once develop into 
Margaret Powers. The old school sobritpiet should be 
dropped, and Ruth smiled to herself, wondering how the 
child was faring in her own absence. Sleep came grad- 
ually and gently enough after this, and there was no 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY. 


47 


dreamland for Ruth that first night in New York. Slie 
awoke with a start to find the daylight streaming into her 
windows, surprised, as was natural, by the strangeness of 
her surroundings, and then realized that the events of 
the forthcoming day would be of the utmost importance 
to her. 

She made her toilet quickly, and fancjnng a knock 
sounded on her door, opened it to see in the half lights 
of the hall Mrs. Chesley’s figure, bonneted and cloaked, 
standing at the foot of the upper stairs. 

“Oh, is that you, my dear?” said the old lady timor- 
ously. She had a small pitcher in her hand. 

“Yes, indeed,” said Ruth; “come in, Mrs. Chesley,” 
and she took Cousin Jane’s hand in her own. 

“You see,” explained Mrs. Chesley apologetically, “I 
generally go out in the morning for a little milk and a roll 
for myself, because I am used to having my breakfast 
about this hour.” 

“Indeed,” exclaimed Ruth, smiling; “what time do they 
have breakfast here?” 

The color flickered into Mrs. Chesley’s pale, thin face. 
“They don’t exactly like my going down,” she w’ent on 
to say; “I suppose the boys have to get their breakfast 
in a hurry; but anyway, I just get my own at the baker’s.” 

Ruth stood still for a moment. She was her own mis- 
tress, and assuredly under no compliment, she decided, to 
any member of the family, and her decision was made in a 
moment. 

“Can you wait,” she said softly, “and take me with 
you? I won’t be a moment putting on my hat, and we’ll 
be back perhaps before any of them are up.” 

She could see b}’’ the dim light of the halls that the 
Merritts as a family were not yet aroused. 


48 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


‘‘Why, of course, my dear,” said Mrs. Chesley; “with 
great pleasure.” 

Ruth made haste now to complete her toilet and to put 
on her out-of-door things, and in a few moments she and 
the old lady were out in the fresh morning air. 

Almost all of ISIew York was new to Ruth, and she 
quite enjoyed the little journey around the corner to a 
small grocery, which was open and apparently at this 
early hour doing a brisk trade. Mrs. Chesley held out 
her pitcher, asking for a pint of milk, and meanwhile 
Ruth roamed about the place, selecting some fruit and one 
or two things which caught her fancy, which she paid for 
with so large a bill that it diverted the shopkeeper’s at- 
tention from several other anxious customers to make the 
proper change. 

He looked at her with a critical air, as though he con- 
cluded she was a new-comer, and therefore to be propiti- 
ated as a good customer, and urged her, on leaving, to call 
again. 

When they w^ere in the street Ruth said quietly to her 
companion : 

“Do you get your own breakfast, Mrs. Chesley?” 

“Oh, yes, my dear; yes, yes,” she said hurriedly; “I 
always get it for myself, because, you see, they don’t care 
to be bothered with so many at the table.” 

“Then come into my room, won’t you?” continued 
Ruth, “and have some of the fruit with me. That is the 
nicest thing to eat early in the morning.” 

They re-entered the house by means of the latchkey 
Mrs. Chesley carried, which had been provided for just 
such expeditions, and Ruth found herself quite entertained 
and diverted from any sadness in her own thoughts by the 
old lady’s evident pleasure in the impromptu meal set 


RUTH ENDIGOTT'S WAT, 


49 


forth; but the undercurrent of anxiety, on Mrs. Chesley’s 
part, showed that she feared the possibility of criticism 
which the other members of the household might make, 
and, seeing this, Ruth suggested her taking the fruit up 
to her own room. 

“Can 1 come up and see you there by and by?” she 
enquired; “because, you know, we must really learn to 
be friends.” 

“I wish you would, my dear,” said Mrs. Chesley, 
brightening still more. “Let me show you now whereto 
find my room.” 

She led the way, Ruth following, half amused, half an- 
noyed that a woman of Mrs. Chesley’s years and evident 
sweetness of character should seem to have so friendless a 
position in the household. At the end of the upper hall 
a short flight of stairs led into what Ruth at first thought 
was merely an attic, but she saw that at the lower end 
was a small room, through the open door of which she 
followed her companion. It was certainly bare and cheer- 
less enough, but scrupulously neat and clean, and a few of 
the widow’s belongings, which looked like some relics of 
a prosperous past, here and there gave it a certain touch 
of home, and once more a great wave of compassion for 
the poor woman swept across Ruth’s young soul and gave 
new life to her determination to befriend this uncared-for 
member of the household — she could scarcely say famil3^ 
One wide dormer window overlooked a very untidy or 
uncared-for yard ; but Mrs. Chesley had in it a garden box 
of her own, which she displayed to Ruth with evident 
pride. 

“I raised them from seeds right in this box here,” she 
explained, “and do you know, my dear, they quite keep 
me company. It’s a very short time, it seems to me, in one 


50 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT, 


way,” she went on, ‘‘since I had a house and garden of 
my own, and everything of the kind that I could wish 
for; but I had an illness, and then things went wrong. I 
don’t know exactly how it was, but almost all the monej^ 
I had seemed to melt awa}^ and Mr. Merritt’s wife was 
the only relation I had who could take care of me. Not 
but what I think,” she continued with sudden energy, 
her dark eyes kindling, “if I was given the chance, I 
could be very different. I see the girls doing things 
many a time that I could do a great deal better if they’d 
only let me try; but here, you see, they think I can’t be 
of any use and want to keep me out of the way. I suppose 
it is,” she added wistfully, “because, in the beginning, I 
made the mistake of criticising them a little too much.” 

“Never mind,” exclaimed Ruth impulsively, but with 
genuine feeling; “just think of this, Mrs. Chesley: I have 
scarcely kith or kin belonging to me. Mrs. Merritt’s 
family are about the only relations I know anything 
about; and 1 suppose,” added the girl, with a blush, “I 
have plenty of money; so, if you will count me for a friend, 
you will be doing me a favor.” 

Mrs. Chesley’s eyes kindled as Ruth took both of her 
hands in her own. “Indeed, my dear,” she said quietly, 
“I will. Many a time I have sat here on the end of this 
little bed, wondering and wondering when the Lord 
meant really to raise up a friend to me, and I have asked 
him, and you see he has answered me. If I can help you 
here with any of them, just let me know.” She hesitated, 
and went on a trifle anxiousl}^: “I don’t believe they 
would like it if they thought you meant to notice me at 
all. I can’t see why it is, but they seem to be afraid of 
even letting me speak when anyone is around.” 

“Never mind,” said Ruth again. She stood up and, 


RUTH ENDICOTT^ 8 WAY, 


51 


bending down, laid her young lips gently against Mrs. 
Chesley’s brow. ‘‘We have made our own compact, 
haven’t we. Cousin Jane? and it isn’t likely we’ll let 
anyone break it for us. I’ll run down now, because I 
suppose some of these days,” Ruth added, laughing, 
“breakfast will be ready.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


The dining-room, as Ruth entered it, presented a family 
picture which would have disheartened a less buoyant soul. 
Mr. Merritt occupied the hearthrug and was delivering a 
discourse in a loud tone of voice, while Lucilla rushed in 
and out between the kitchen, pantry, and dining-room, 
and Peter the Second joined in the conversation, creating 
what seemed to Ruth a noisy dispute between his sisters. 

In a moment Mrs. Merritt appeared from the kitchen, 
placing the final dish upon the table, and the family sat 
down. Directl}^ Mr. Merritt’s appetite was somewhat 
appeased he enquired of Ruth if she could go down-town 
with him and see the lawyer. 

Ruth answered: ‘^Certainly, of course,” and was glad 
to escape up to her own little room and make ready for the 
journey. Even when within her own door she could hear 
Mr. Merritt talking volubly, and apparently walking up and 
down the stairs as he laid down the law for the different 
members of the family. Five minutes later Ruth appeared, 
to find him with his hat far back on his head, declaiming 
about something, and’ enquiring in a stentorian tone of 
voice whether Ruth would ever be ready. 

Once more Mr. Merritt insisted upon hiring a cab, 
which he considered apparently the proper mode of con- 
veyance for a young lady of her pretensions, and he was 
forced to be silent, since, as the cab rattled over the 
cobblestones, the noise drowned his powers of speech. 

It was the first experience Ruth had of the business 

52 


RUTH ENDIGOTT 8 WAY. 


53 


part of 'New York City, and Nassau Street puzzled 
her as though it had been a labyrinth ; but she followed 
Mr. Merritt to the elevator in a large building and 
thence to the top floor, Merritt all [the time seeming in 
a perturbed condition of mind. If he could have directed 
the elevator boy how to manage the ropes, he would have 
liked to have done so. This being out of the question, 
he rose a few moments in advance of reaching their 
destination and was ready to pull the door open on a 
second’s notice. It evidently worried him, on entering 
the first room of Mr. Pearson’s offices, that he could not 
see the lawyer at once, and was obliged to go through the 
formula of sending in his name and explaining to the very 
deferential clerk something of his business. In a moment 
the clerk returned, requesting Mr. Merritt and Ruth to 
step into Mr. Pearson’s own room. 

Mr. Pearson was standing by his table, evidently wait- 
ing with considerable interest for his young client. He 
was a small man, thin and dark, with a face wrinkled 
more from thought and anxiety than ill temper; yet 
he gave an impression of severity. Something, however, 
there was in his manner and expression which gave Ruth 
a sort of courage, and had not Mr. Merritt been with her 
she could have talked freely and frankly to him. 

“Now, then,” began Mr. Merritt, “we’ve come down 
here, sir, to understand all about Mr. Endicott’s business. 
As I take it, you’re in possession of everything he had to 
leave.” 

Mr. Pearson smiled. “You are quite right there, sir,” 
he answered. “I have a few things in ray safe belonging 
to Mr. Endicott, but so far as money is concerned, there is 
next to nothing.” 

Mr. Merritt sprang from his chair. 


64 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


“Do you mean to tell me, sir,” be exclaimed, “that Mr. 
Eudicott had nothing to leave?” 

“That’s about what it amounts to,” said Mr. Pearson. 
“There is a small amount in certain stocks he invested 
in shortly before his death, but apart from that nothing 
at all.” 

“Then am I to understand,” exclaimed Mr. Merritt, 
“that my niece here is a pauper?” 

“She may realize a hundred dollars a year out of the 
securities we have,” said the lawyer, “but that will be 
the outside of it.” 

The discussion proceeded a little longer, Mr. Merritt 
using all the English at his command and Mr. Pearson 
answering quietly and coherently, and meanwhile Ruth 
sat as if spellbound. What was she to do? She was 
clear-minded enough to know that she must now think of 
supporting herself, and while Mr. Pearson and Mr. Merritt 
talked a dozen plans flashed through her mind, no one 
forming itself with sufficient clearness to make her con- 
sider it an available idea. It might have been, for all she 
knew, one hour or five that the talk went on. Mr. Pearson 
looked at her from time to time with the utmost gentle- 
ness in his expression, and when a question was put to her 
she would answer it mechanically. Finally, out of the 
mist she seemed to hear Mr. Pearson say: 

“Well, what do you think you will do, my child?” 

And she roused herself to answer: 

“1 must try to support myself, I suppose.” 

“Certainly, certainly!” said Mr. Pearson; “and you 
look young and strong and healthy, you ought to be able 
to do it well.” 

“She has education enough,” said Mr. Merritt, in a 
rough voice. “I don’t know what all that schooling up 


RUTH ENDIGOTrS WAY. 


55 


at Miss Daintrey’s would amount to if she couldn’t make 
it of some service now.” 

“ VVbat do you think you can do?” enquired Mr. Pear- 
son. “Teaching is about as hard a life as anyone can 
lead, but 1 suppose that is the only thing you could turn 
your hand to now.” 

“I suppose so,” said Ruth quietly. “If I could only 
earn enough for a little while to make my own living I 
would not care how hard I worked.” 

“That’s the way to talk,” exclaimed Mr. Merritt. “I 
own I am greatly disappointed. I brought her down from 
the country, got the best seats in a parlor car, hired a cab 
and everything, and now wdiat I want to say is this: that 
was just so much money thrown away.” 

Ruth glanced at the lawyer, and he interpreted what she 
meant. 

“You are quite mistaken, Mr. Merritt,” said Mr. Pear- 
son, in a perfectly composed tone of voice; “Miss Endi- 
cott is not so badly off as you think. There is something 
to her account, and if you will kindly make out your bill 
for all those expenses we can settle it at once.” 

Mr. Merritt took out his pencil and laboriously jotted 
down various items, while Ruth and Mr. Pearson remained 
perfectly silent. He began with the journey from En- 
field, bringing the account down to the present moment, 
and then handed the paper to Mr. Pearson, drawing a long 
breath of satisfaction, but eying him furtively, as though 
he could not believe the lawyer really intended to pay the 
amount due. Mr. Pearson merely glanced at the memo- 
randum, and walking to the inner office, left Mr. Merritt 
and Ruth alone for a few moments. 

He returned with some banknotes in his hand and a 
carefully made out receipt. 


56 


RUm ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


‘‘If you will kindly sign that,” said Mr. Pearson, “that 
will settle everything.” 

Mr. Merritt did as he was asked, and then Mr. Pearson 
turned to Ruth. 

“Perhaps you can come down here to-morrow,” he said 
gravely, “and if I hear of anything to-night, as I expect 
to, I will let you know. I have a slight idea of a position 
which may be useful to you. A client of mine has re- 
cently returned to New York after a long absence abroad. 
He is suffering very much with his eyes and needs some- 
one as amanuensis and to read aloud to him. Perhaps you 
could take the place.” 

A quick light sprang into Ruth’s face. 

“If I can do it I shall be only too happy,” she ex- 
claimed, “for, you see, I must work now, as, according to 
what you say, I am nearly penniless.” 

“ said Mr. Merritt; of course you must; and 

we’ll see what stuff you’re made of. It’s just as I have 
said all along,” he continued. “What was the use of 
sending her to that fine school and bringing her up with- 
out an idea of having to take care of herself ? ” 

Ruth was silent, and Mr. Pearson made haste to 
say: 

“I think the young lad}^ has plenty of pluck in her, and 
it’s rather early in the da}^ to complain of her not being 
able to take care of herself.” 

“Well, we’ll see; we’ll seef said Mr. Merritt. “Now, 
then, Mr. Pearson, I suppose the only thing for us to do 
is to turn round and go home.” 

Mr. Pearson bowed. 

“I will see you in the morning,” said Mr. Pearson, 
“and I feel almost certain that I can get the position for 
you, if you are not afraid of work.” 


BUTII ENDICOTT'S WAT, 


67 


Mr. Merritt laughed aloud. 

‘‘What business has she to be afraid of work,” he ex- 
claimed, “when she may not have a dollar to her name ? 
She ought to be glad to have it on any terms. No, indeed ; 
I’ll see to that. She won’t dare to be afraid of work as 
long as 1 have anything to do with her.” 

Ruth could hardly tell how the last of that visit went 
by. She was distinctly conscious of two things: First, 
that she was, according to Mr. Merritt’s expression, a pau- 
per; then that Mr. Pearson had agreed to get some employ- 
ment for her. Even Mr. Merritt’s volubility had no effect 
upon her when they were once more in the street, and he 
enjoyed listening to himself for the next half hour w'hile 
they drove home. Ruth was mainly anxious to be by her- 
self for a little while and fit the new parts of her puzzle 
together. She was not afraid of work, not afraid of any- 
thing honorable whereby she could earn her livelihood, 
but she dreaded inexpressibly being subject to the cross- 
examination of her cousin’s family, and her keenest feel- 
ing of failure came from having to disappoint Mrs. 
Chesley. Suddenly it occurred to her, that, with her 
youth and strength and a certain kind of ability which she 
knew she possessed, she might make a little home for her- 
self, take Mrs. Chesley with her, and free herself once and 
forever of the kind of bondage she was sure she would be 
in so long as she remained with the Merritts. It gave her 
new hope and determination, and she decided to take the 
first opportunity of talking it over with the old lady. 

Mr. Merritt, even when silent, continued to manifest his 
displeasure by his very gestures, bringing his hand 
nervously up and down on the sash of the open window^, 
making half articulate sounds betw^een his teeth, shaking 
his head from side to side, and showing Ruth no kind of 


58 


BUTE ENDIGOirS WAY, 


attention. The drive seemed interminable, and the misery 
of her position was not lessened when he suddenly broke 
the silence to say the cabman would look for a pretty 
penny for all this coaching about, and waiting “outside of 
that fellow Pearson’s office.” 

On at last reaching the brick house he called home, 
Mr. Merritt sprang onto the pavement without even glanc- 
ing at his companion, who, leaving him to a wordy battle 
with the cabman, made haste up the steps, ringing the bell 
before Mr. Merritt’s discussion was over, so that she con- 
trived to escape up to Mrs. Chesley’s room before the 
master of the house, very red in the face and excited by 
this time, let himself in, and at once went down to the 
front basement with the ruin of his hopes stamped upon 
his countenance. 

Thoroughly disappointed, angered, and baffled, Mr. Mer- 
ritt for the next half hour held forth to the family, warn- 
ing them against believing in anything promising in Ruth’s 
future. 

Meanwhile Ruth was with her new and sympathizing 
friend. How strange it seemed to the young girl to thiidc 
that only twentj^-four hours before her position in the 
household had been that of an honored guest. Now Mrs. 
Chesley’s bare little room was her only refuge, while not a 
question but that the Merritts downstairs were discussing 
her in most unfavorable terms. “ WorJc!^'* thought Ruth, 
“he thinks me incapable of that, of course, I will work, 
and I am very much mistaken in myself if I can’t succeed 
in making a little home for Mrs. Chesley with me.” 

She was quite certain the old lady would be alone, and 
so it proved. The widow’s cordial welcome soothing her 
shaken nerves. 

“Well, where have you been all day?” exclaimed Mrs. 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAT. 


59 


Chesley, returning Ruth’s embrace heartily. “ Do sit right 
down and tell me.” 

“ Yes,” said Ruth, laying aside her wraps and taking a 
chair near the little work-table, where she could rest her 
arms. ‘‘It’s a very short story. Cousin Jane. Mr. Merritt 
and I have been to the lawyers, and, do you know, I’m 
almost as poor as a church mouse.” 

Mrs. Chesley raised her hands in horror, and took off 
her spectacles to readjust them and gaze at Ruth in- 
credulously. 

“ Yes,” continued the girl sadly, her attempt at a cheer- 
ful tone failing her ; “ I’ve just a very little bit of money, it 
seems, and so Mr. Pearson is going to get me some work 
to do. You can fancy how this has effected Mr. Merritt.” 

“ Yes,” said the widow gravel}^ Her composure had 
returned. She knew Ruth needed her sympathy, perliaps 
her counsel, and both were at the young girl’s service. 

“I have a plan to propose to you,” continued Ruth, 
leaning her head on her hands, after her old fashion, push- 
ing the waves of curling hair back from her brow. “ I 
thought it out coming up in the carriage. Nothing would 
induce me to remain here an hour longer than it is abso- 
lutely necessary. They do not want me — want either of 
us. Cousin Jane. And how would you like to come with 
me, to take some rooms and keep house togetlier ? That 
is, you can keep house while I am working, and it will be 
a home for me — something to keep life and ambition 
in me.” 

“ Do you reall}^ mean it ? ” asked Mrs. Chesley, gazing 
at Ruth in wonderment. 

Mean it ! ” exclaimed Ruth. “Every word of it, my 
dear friend. Would it not be better than living among 
strangers ? We’ll set up our small belongings, and escape 


60 


BUTE ENBIC0TT8 WAY. 


all the tumult and bother here. I may be poor in one 
way, but, thank God ! I have my youth and health and 
some brains, and I can turn them to good account. Come, 
say, Cousin Jane, at once, will you join forces with me, 
or must I start out alone ? ” 

The smile, which, even when tinged with sadness, as at 
present, gave to Ruth’s face such aii ineffable charm, 
lighted it now, as she stretched her hand across the little 
table to clasp Mrs. Chesley’s rather trembling fingers. 
But her determination and spirit had infected the older 
woman. 

Ruth,” she said eagerly, you shall not go alone, if 
you’ll have me, my dear, along with you. You’ll find I’ll 
never be a drag or a burden to you. No, indeed ! Count 
on me — of course you can ! ” 


CHAPTER VIIL 


Ruth opened her eyes the next morning with a con- 
sciousness of something important impending, yet just 
what it was she could not at first remember. When it 
came back to her there was a rush of miserable feeling, but 
perhaps what she dreaded most was the thought of meet- 
ing the assembled family in the dining-room. However, 
there was nothing for it, the young girl decided, but to 
make a bold plunge, so to speak, into the future, and having 
decided upon work of some sort, freeing herself from 
every obligation to the Merritts, she felt herself encour- 
aged, or perhaps I had better say aroused into fresh deter- 
mination. Moreover, there was a stimulus to her in feeling 
that Mrs. Chesley was looking to her for some comfort in 
her lonely life. 

On reaching the dining-room, Ruth braced herself anew 
to meet the members of the family. They were the last 
people to consider anyone’s feelings from a delicate point 
of view, and Ruth was tormented, although she bore it 
in silence, by the unmistakable change in their manner 
toward her — their way of ignoring her, or talking at her. 
However it strengthened her determination to make a 
break, and as soon as she could do so with any show of 
politeness the girl excused herself from the table, observ- 
ing that she must not fail in her appointment with Mr. 
Pearson. 

“Well, I only hope he’ll be able to do something for 
you,” said Mr. Merritt, with a short laugh, “and I don’t 

61 


62 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


suppose now you’ll feel above picking up any kind of 
employment be can give you.” 

“I shall not be above any honest work,” said Ruth 
quietly. ‘‘I don’t know very much of the world, but what 
I have seen has taught me that independence is a great 
comfort.” 

Mr. Merritt laughed again. 

“Stick to that,” he observed, and added: “I suppose 
you’d know your way down-town, wouldn’t you?” 

“I can take the cars,” said Ruth, “and as 1 have Mr. 
Pearson’s card I don’t doubt I can make my way.” 

Mr. Merritt hesitated, and then with an air of making a 
great concession said : 

“Well, Sammy, unless it will keep you too late, I 
guess you’d better put this young lady safely into the 
Elevated.” 

Sammy looked up and nodded in a patronizing manner, 
which made Ruth long to dispense with any idea of his 
escort, but after all she realized something might happen 
if she started on the journey entirely alone. New York 
was still more or less confusing to the girl so long accus- 
tomed to the quiet of a country town. 

Sammy was not altogether displeased to escort so attrac- 
tive and, as he put it, “stylish” a girl as his cousin, and 
made quite a little show of getting her ticket and w^aiting 
on the platform until he saw her safely into the car, when 
he waved his hand with a demonstrative air of good-by, 
and Ruth, in spite of some nervousness, felt decidedly 
relieved to be alone. 

After all she had no difficulty in finding Mr. Pearson’s 
office, and she had scarcely been seated ten minutes in the 
outer room when the clerk desired her to step into the 
lawyer’s own special sanctum, w here he met her with good- 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


63 


humored civility, evidently well pleased by her promptness 
in keeping the appointment. 

“Now, then, my dear young lady,” said the lawyer, 
falling easily into a judicial sort of manner, “I saw my 
friend and client, Mr. Hargrave, and, if you can under- 
take the work, 1 think I can get you the position. He is 
somewhat of an eccentric character, but a thorough gentle- 
man in every respect. He is busy over some kind of writ- 
ing or literary work, and he needs a smart, bright amanu- 
ensis, who won’t require too much salary, and can follow 
up his ideas. Added to that he has considerable corre- 
spondence, which must also be attended to for him. By 
the way, are you anything of a Latin scholar?” 

“I am afraid not,” said Ruth, with a blush. “I went 
about as far as arma virumque cano^ but I should not 
pretend to call myself anything of a scholar.” 

“How about French?” he enquired. 

“I am better off there,” said Ruth, “for of course we 
spoke and read and translated a great deal.” 

“And arithmetic?” 

“Very bad, I am afraid,” said Ruth. 

“But you write a good hand, I presume, and have 
enough of — what shall we call it — general culture to be of 
service to a man like Mr. Hargrave.” 

“I can only try,” exclaimed Ruth, “and I am so anxious 
to be doing something for myself, as you know, that I 
will make every effort to be satisfactory, and at least, when 
I find out what my deficiencies are I should think I could 
take the evenings to study up.” 

“You have the right spirit,” said Mr. Pearson smiling, 
“and that is half the battle. So many young people start 
out to work in life nowadaj^s badly equipped so far as 
education goes and in their own ideas of what work 


64 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


means. And I own,” he added, “that I am anxious to see 
you, as 3^our father’s daughter, in a more independent, or 
perhaps I had better say prosperous position. These 
relatives of yours are, I judge, the kind of people who 
would respect you according to your own ability to get 
along without them.” 

“I think,” answered Ruth slowly, “that they would 
be very much afraid of my becoming a burden to them.” 

“Exactly. And now, my dear, I have made my arrange- 
ments to take you myself to Mr. Hargrave’s at once, if it 
is only to introduce you. I don’t doubt,” he added, 
“you and he can discuss the business side of everything 
even better without me. His housekeeper is a very fine 
woman, a cousin of his by marriage, and she is sure to make 
you welcome.” 

Ruth was only too well pleased by the prospect, and 
waited contentedly for twenty minutes or half an hour 
while Mr. Pearson gave some special instructions to his 
chief clerk, and then, still smiling good-humoredly when 
he turned to Ruth, announced himself as ready for their 
little trip. 

She could not, of course, form the least idea on their 
way uptown as to just what would be expected of her, or 
what she would find at Mr. Hargrave’s; but the very 
novelty of the position, as well as the urgent necessity of 
some immediate result, lent the girl new courage, and 
there was already a pleasure in thinking of bringing back 
some good news to poor Mrs. Chesley. 

Mr. Hargrave’s house was a large old-fashioned one just 
out of Fifth Avenue, on a quiet side street, which seemed 
to have been entirely uninfluenced by the ebb and flow of 
change, even in that part of the city. As a matter of fact 
the Hargraves had lived there for generations, gradually 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY. 


65 


accumulating their lares and penates with a dignified 
indiflerence to the outer world, excepting so far as its con- 
ventionalities. were concerned. An elderly man-servant 
admitted the lawyer and his companion into a wide, oak- 
panelled hall, furnished almost like a room, with a graceful 
staircase to the right, two doorways at each side and 
one at the lower end of the hall itself. 

“I hope your master is well to-da}", Gregson,” said Mr. 
Pearson to the butler, “and will you please let him know 
as soon as possible that I have called with my client. Miss 
Endicott.” 

Gregson took Mr. Pearson’s card, and ushered the visitors * 
into a sort of reception-room on the right of the entrance. 

Ruth had time to glance about and decide that she liked 
the aspect of this room thoroughly. Something there was 
suggestive of a repose in the very air of the place which 
was a relief after the noisy vulgarity of the Merritt house- 
hold, and she could not help thinking what a comfort it 
would be to spend some hours at least of every day here. 

It would put her back into the frame of mind which she 
seemed to have lost since leaving Enfield. 

The door was opened within five or ten minutes by 
Gregson, who politely requested the visitors to step 
upstairs, explaining that his master was not able to leave 
his own sitting-room for the morning. 

“The doctor has insisted, you see, sir,” said Gregson, 
“on his running no risk of a fresh cold. His eyes were 
pretty bad again yesterday, and he cannot come down- 
stairs.” 

“I am sorry for that,” said Mr. Pearson, “but I hope, 
Gregson, you will urge him to be prudent this time. 
Remember how ill he was when he disobeyed the doctor 
last time.” 


66 


BUTII ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


‘‘Indeed I do, sir,” said Gregson solemnly, “and I am 
sure,” he added, “I shall be only too delighted if the 
young lady can help him in his work or even keep him 
amused. Mrs. Selby is out just at present, but will be in 
in a few minutes, 1 expect.” 

By this time they had reached the upper landing and 
Gregson politely ushered the visitors into a large room in 
the rear of the house. 

A gentleman was seated before a centre table, and he 
rose directly the sound of footsteps told him that he was 
not alone. 

Ruth looked with swift compassion upon the pale, fine 
face of Mr. Hargrave, the brow shaded by a silken band- 
age which indicated what his suffering must be. He 
seemed, however, quite able to mo\e about without guid- 
ance, and as Mr. Pearson introduced his young client, Mr. 
Hargrave extended his hand, saying cordially: 

“Although I can’t see you. Miss Endicott, I can shake 
hands and bid 3’ou welcome.” 

A few minutes’ desuitor}?' consultation followed, upon 
whch Mr. Pearson remarked that he might as well leave 
them to talk business matters together, adding something 
which he meant to be peculiarly kind as to Ruth’s father 
having been so warm a friend of his that he trusted all 
would now go well. 

There was, of course, a few moments of shyness on 
Ruth’s part when she found herelf alone with Mr. Har- 
grave, but under the influence of his quietly genial manner 
it wore awa}’, and she found herself talking quite naturally 
and brightly, answering his questions and stating plainly 
what she considered her own deficiencies. 

“Never mind, my dear,” said Mr. Hargrave encour- 
agingly, “tirne will tell, and although you see me with 


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RUTH ENBIGOTTB WAY, 


67 


this bandage over my eyes, there are times when I am 
permitted to use my own sight for a few moments. How- 
ever, I can bear no strain upon them whatever. Shall we 
see what we can do?” he continued^ and taking a place 
near the window, motioned Ruth to the seat he had just 
left at the table. 

‘‘You will find stationery at hand,” he went on, “and 
suppose we begin with a letter. J ust look under that paper- 
weight and you will find my morning mail. Please read 
aloud one that you will find signed ‘William Powers.’ ” 

With a sense of happy familiarity with the name, and 
remembering poor little Margaret, the “Niggie” of school- 
days, Ruth found the letter and read aloud as follows: 

“My Dear Hargrave: 

“1 expect to be in New York for a flying trip next week, 
and will bring you the Chaldaic translation up to date. I 
don’t know whether you will find anything useful to your 
work in it, but it may prove of some interest. A man 
thoroughly up in everything of the kind obtained it for 
me. I have to look up your cousin and mine, and see 
what is to be done with her during her holidays. Half a 
dozen suggestions have been made to me, but I don’t know 
yet what to do about it, and would like to consult our 
good Mrs. Selby. You may count on seeing me shortly; 
meanwhile, please address me at the St. James in Boston, 
giving me Philip Scott’s address. I want to compare notes 
with him on one or two matters in hand. 

“Yours sincerel}’’, 

“William Powers.” 

Ruth found answering the letter quite a fascinating 
occupation. Mr. Hargrave’s mind seemed to be a store- 


68 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


house of information, and, when she had concluded the 
dictation, she looked up to say cheerfully: 

‘‘Why, this will be as good as an education to me, Mr. 
Hargrave,” which seemed to please the invalid greatly. 
She could not help wondering whether the Mr. Powers to 
whom she had written was the uncle or guardian of her 
little friend, but she scarcely liked to ask the question. 
Ruth read aloud the letter to Mr. Hargrave, and began 
another at his dictation as follows: 

“My Dear Robert: 

“I wish you would make time to call upon me to-morrow, 
any hour before six o’clock. There are one or two matters 
I want you to look up for me. If you get a chance mean- 
while, go into Birchman’s and see whether he has found 
that Persian scholar whom he promised to look up. 

“Yours, etc., 

“John Hargrave.” 

Half a dozen notes followed this. Mr. Hargrave sent 
Ruth once or twice to the book slielves, with which one 
side of the room was lined, to look up dates, references, 
names of people and jdaces. Even more translating 
came in, which it was evident she did thoroughlj^ to Ijis 
satisfaction, from his quiet tone and word of approval ; 
while Ruth decided that a more congenial way of earning 
her living could not have fallen to her lot in life. 

“ Now, then, a line to my man Peny, down in Ashe- 
ville,” said Mr. Hargrave. He gave the formula of ad- 
dress, etc., requesting Perry to look up some fine specimens 
of the newest hybrid from the Bennet Rose. 

“I’ve a friend in New Jersey,” he remarked, “very 
anxious for a plant from Perry, and I think he’ll manage it.” 


RUTH ENDICOTTS WAY. 


69 


How many more people have you to think of ? ” ex- 
claimed Ruth involuntarily ; but before he had time to 
answer a liglit tap sounded on the door, followed at once 
by the entrance of a tall, well-dressed lady, exceedingly 
bright and animated in manner, and whom Mr. Hargrave 
introduced as his cousin, Mrs. Selby. 


CHAPTER IX. 


^‘Are you working hard?” said Mrs. Selby. ‘‘If not, 
will you come down and have lunch with me?” 

Mr. Hargrave was evidently annoyed by the interrup- 
tion, but he said at once: 

“Certainly, my dear child, you must be tired.” 

He added in a moment: 

“Selina, see that Miss Endicott has everything she 
wants.” 

Ruth had the appetite of the young and healthy, and 
her instinctive epicurean taste was pleased with the way in 
which the luncheon table was set out — the fine damask, 
crystal glasses, dainty Dresden china, all made the centre 
of the rather gloomy room a point of color which caught 
her eye at once and made her smile. 

Mrs. Selby, who was scrupulously particular on points of 
etiquette, stood by her chair waiting for Gregson to draw 
it out for her — then, as she seated herself, waved her hand 
toward Ruth. 

Gregson noiselessly presented dish after dish to Ruth 
and to Mrs. Selby. When they had finished their omelette 
souffle^ Mrs. Selby said rather anxiously: 

“Well, my dear, how do you find you are getting on 
with Mr. Hargrave?” 

“In regard to w^ork?” enquired Ruth. 

“Oh, yes, of course. Can you make anything out of all 
his books? those queer languages, I mean?” 

“Mr. Hargrave can do the translating,” said Ruth. “I 




70 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAT, 


1 \ 


am tolerably well up in German and French, but I know 
nothing of Oriental tongues.” 

‘‘And as I understand it,” continued Mrs. Selby, “you 
are to write his letters for him?” 

“So he says.” 

“Well, then,” said Mrs. Selby, as a final conclusion, “it 
may help you to show any, well, let us call it correspond- 
ence to me.” 

Ruth made no answer, and Mrs. Selby went on: 

“You see he writes to different people, very foolishly 
at times, and as he is suffering with his eyes we have to 
spare him any trouble.” 

Still Ruth was silent. 

“He has a young relative he is anxious about,” said 
Mrs. Selby. “Margaret Powers. He seems determined 
to have her come here on a visit and, well — oh, well!” 

Ruth’s heart gave a happy bound. Her poor little 
Niggie! What a happiness it would be even to see her 
again ! 

“I think you met her,” continued Mrs. Selby. “ She was 
at Miss Daintrey’s school.” 

“Yes?” said Ruth interrogatively. 

“A little more of the souffle^ Miss Endicott?” asked 
her hostess. “No? Well, I hope you liked your coffee; 
we make it in the French fashion.” 

“Indeed I do!” said Ruth, glad to find a topic of common 
interest. “1 hope you will let me know of anything which 
will help Mr. Hargrave in his work.” 

By this time they were in the hall and Mrs. Selby said, 
with the same air of anxiety: 

“Yes, my dear. May I give you one piece of advice? 
We have tried so many doctors for his eyes, and now there 
seems some hope of his regaining his sight. He likes to 


72 


nUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT. 


go near the window, and if you can only prevent that you 
may do him a great service.” 

Ruth longed to enquire about many things, but she 
had the reticence due to her innate refinement, and ac- 
cordingly she preferred to let events take their own 
course. 

When she returned to her employer’s room he had had 
his lunch and seemed anxious for her to begin work again. 
He was quite proud of having moved certain things on 
the table for himself, and called upon Ruth to see how 
neatly they were arranged. 

He indicated to her where the drawers in the table 
were, in which she should find his memoranda, and then 
requested her to read the notes aloud. 

Ruth took the books and began reading in as clear a 
voice as possible: 

‘^From Bologna to Biarritz . — We stayed a week in 
Biarritz and explored both the old town and the new. It 
happened to be a gala time. Everyone was out in Festa 
dress, and the old town and the new were alive with color 
and decoration. There was nothing but a sense of holi- 
day in the air, and every moment was enjoyable. Even 
the old women in the bric-a-brac shops seemed to share 
our idea of festivity, and at the table d'‘h6te everyone 
talked to his neighbor on every conceivable topic. The 
sun shone on the sands, of the beach, and on all sides were 
tents put up in which the bathers could enjoy a quiet sleep 
after their bath. Blue and gray and white were the colors 
of the old town, sharply defined against the intense sun- 
light. When we started to go up the hill to our hotel, 
although refreshed by our bath, we were imbued with a 
sense which seemed to pervade the place and the people — 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


7S 


which I can only think of as expressed by the Italian 
phrase Rolce far niente.^^ 

“Noav, my dear,” he said finally, “can you read that 
aloud to me again ? ” 

Ruth did as she was bid, and added that it was very 
interesting kind of work. 

“We may as w^ell go on,” said he, “to a few letters I 
have in mind.” 

Ruth prepared the paper, and he moved restlessly about 
the room, dictating various unimportant notes, which Ruth 
was able to take down correctly, enclose in their envelopes, 
and address according to his dictation, signing his name 
with her own initial underneath. 

A short time passed after this, while Mr. Hargrave 
walked up and down the room. He was evidently think- 
ing deeply on some subject, and rousing himself from his 
revery, he said at last: 

“Have you fixed any time for being at home ? ” 

“No,” answered Ruth; “but I think it would be 
well for me to be back as early in the evening as pos- 
sible.” 

Mr. Hargrave waited a moment and then said : 

“Are you comfortable where you are living?” 

Ruth almost laughed aloud. The thought of that 
tumultuous household rushed across her with a mingled 
sense of amusement and dismay. 

“You can’t think of comfort there, Mr. Hargrave,” she 
said impulsively^; “there is nothing like it. However, I 
have a plan of my own which, if I could carry out, would 
make me comfortable.” 

“What is it?” enquired Mr. Hargrave. 

“Well, I want to leave there,” said Ruth, “and take a 


74 


BUTH ENBICOTrS WAY, 


little place of my own, where I can quietly attend to my 
work.” 

“By yourself^ my child?” enquired Mr. Hargrave, in a 
tone of complete surprise. 

“Oh, no!” said Ruth. “I have a friend — -an old lady,, 
who is only too anxious to be with me. Pier name is 
Chesley. She is living now up with the Merritts, but 
more than uncomfortable, and I cannot do there all I would 
like for her. I am quite sure, if she and I were together 
anywhere, away from all that crowd of noisy people, we 
could make a comfortable little home for ourselves.” 

Mr. Hargrave said nothing for a moment or two, but it 
was evident that he was thinking deeply. 

“And you could then,” he said at last, “come every day 
and work for me?” 

“More than willingly,” exclaimed Ruth. “I would 
not be worried as I am now.” 

“When you come down to-morrow,” said Mr. Har- 
grave, “if I give you the address of a nice house you can 
go to, with your old friend, you had better take an hour 
and look at it* Now, my dear,” he continued, “you have 
worked hard enough for to-day, and Mrs. Selby will see 
that you are sent safely home. Be sure to come back by 
ten o’clock in the morning.” 

Ruth took this as her dismissal. She arranged the 
papers as neatly as possible on her table, placing every- 
thing within Mr. Hargrave’s easy reach. As she was 
about to leave the room, he said, in an imperative tone of 
voice: 

“Miss Endicott, come here, will you!” 

He held out his hand, and Ruth in an instant was at 
his side. 

' “Take the bandage from m}^ eyes for one moment, if 


Burn ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


1b 


you please,” he continued. “Now hold your own hands 
near them, and let me see if anything like daylight remains 
to me.” 

Ruth made a screen of her hands against his eyes. He 
walked a step or two, then turned hack again toward the 
gloomy end of the room. 

“lean see,” he said, in a low voice; “but I must be 
patient. Put the bandage on again.” 

When Ruth had done so he went on : 

“You have dark brown hair, and I think your eyes are 
blue. I saw that much. Now, my dear, go and come 
back to-morrow and forget any ill-humor I may have 
indulged in. To one who loves every sight of the living 
world, blindness seems insupportable.” 


CHAPTER X. 


Ruth felt as though wings had been lent to her feet on 
the way home. It was not alone the consciousness of 
independence, but she had thoroughly enjoyed her work, 
and there was the delight of bringing good news back to 
Mrs. Ghesley, who, she felt quite certain, would be eagerly 
waiting her return. It seemed of no consequence now to 
her what the Merritts might think or say. While she 
could be of service to Mr. Hargrave, there would certainly 
be no question as to means for her actual livelihood. To 
start a little home of her own with Mrs. Chesley gave the 
girl new ambition. At all events, it would give her a sort 
of motive in life. 

Lucilla opened the door for her, and exclaimed at once 
upon Ruth’s cheerful manner and expression. 

‘‘Why, you don’t look,” said the girl, “as though you’d 
been working very hard !” 

“I not only have worked,” answered Ruth gayly, “but 
I have the prospect ahead of me of regular employment, 
and I assure you it has put me in excellent spirits.” 

“Let us hope it will last,” answered her cousin, and 
Ruth only nodded in return. 

She was determined not to allow the charm of her feel- 
ing to be disturbed by anything the Merritts had to say, 
and as soon as possible made her way up to Mrs. Cliesley’s 
room, where she felt she could afford to be enthusiastic. 

“Now then. Aunt Jane,” said the girl, as soon as she 
had given her the outline of her day’s employment, “my 
mind is definitely made up on one point. I will not 

7G 


BUTE ENDICOTTS WAY, 


77 

remain here, and if you will come with me we will take a 
little place of our own.” 

Mrs. Chesley’s face glowed with pleasure. 

“It puts new life into me just to think of it!” she 
exclaimed. “When shall we start?’ 

“Mr. Hargrave is going to give me the address of a nice 
liouse, he promises, to which w^e can go at once, and I wdll 
look at it before I return to-morrow. Then, all we will 
have to do is to pack up and go. The Merritts cannot 
dare to interfere with us, for have they not over and again 
declared themselves burdened by us ?” 

However, in spite of what she said, Ruth did have a 
feeling of nervousness about telling the Merritts of her 
new plan, and determined to express herself quietly and in 
such aw^ay that they should see that argument was out of 
the question. 

She said very little that evening beyond expressing her- 
self as entirely satisfied with her new position, and was 
wide awake early the next morning, ready for the first 
breakfast, and anxious to be at her w^ork again. 

Mrs. Selby received her with even more good humor 
and interest than on the day previous, and while Ruth was 
taking off her things told her that Mr. Hargrave had con- 
sulted her the night before as to his plan for her leaving 
her cousin’s house. 

“He told me,” said Mrs. Selby, “to take you to the 
place myself, and after you have worked an hour or so I 
will be ready.” 

Ruth longed, on entering Mr. Hargrave’s room, to 
express herself in the right way — to show him that she 
was not unworthy of his kindness, but all she could do was 
to press his hand warmly and murmur something about 
hoping to prove her gratitude in the future. 


78 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


Mr. Hargrave laughed. 

“Why, iny dear child,” he said, putting his hand on her 
shoulder, “don’t you know that you are really couferring 
a favor upon me. You will be able to work better and 
you will have given me the opportunity to feel myself of 
use to someone.” 

His first dictation was correspondence, chiefly on busi- 
ness matters, and then Mrs. Selby’s knock sounded on 
the door, and in a few moments she and Ruth had started 
to look at the house Mr. Hargrave had suggested. 

It was on a side street in a quiet, old-fashioned neighbor- 
hood, and the landlady seemed quite eager to please any- 
one recommended by Mr. Hargrave. The rooms she had 
to offer were on the top floor, it is true, but there was the 
advantage of light and air. A small sitting-room or 
parlor fronted the street and the two bedrooms adjoined. 

They were furnished with absolute simplicity, but every- 
thing was perfectly clean and in good order, and as Mrs. 
Renfrew, the landlady, said, little things could be added 
from time to time. Ruth’s innate housewifely instinct was 
agreeably aroused by the idea of beginning life, as it 
were, for herself, and, explaining to Mrs. Renfrew that she 
was to have a friend — an old lady — with her, she com- 
pleted the bargain, paid her first week’s rent, and agreed to 
take up her abode there the next day. A double feeling of 
security made the young girl veiy happy as she and Mrs. 
Selby turned their steps toward Mr. Hargrave’s house 
again, and she rejoiced to think how pleased Mrs. Chesley 
would be, even though there might be some difficulty in 
making this move. 

Mr. Hargrave seemed almost as interested as she was 
herself when she gave him rapid details of what they had 
done. 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY. 


79 


‘‘In regard to furniture,” he said, in a moment, and 
speaking with a mixture of diffidence and anxiety: “If 
you will only let me know what you need I am sure that 
Selina will be glad to get rid of a number of things that 
must be in the attic. In this great house, as you see, 
we really only make use of a few rooms.” 

Again all Ruth could do was to thank him in a few 
words, and she was pleased to find that Mrs. Selby entered 
into the same idea quite enthusiastically. 

“We’ll go up to the attic now, before you leave,” she 
said, “ and just take a look around. There are things which 
must have been there twenty years, of no use to anybody. 

The attic extended almost all over the top of the house, 
and as Mrs. Selby led the way into it, Ruth wondered 
how it was so many things had collected and been stowed 
away. All was in good order, but Mrs. Selby declared 
that she had forgotten, herself, half it contained. A few 
pieces of furniture w^ere selected, before they looked at 
some rolls of carpet, and Ruth was delighted by permis- 
sion to appropriate some old-fashioned pictures and a 
few pieces of bric-a-brac, Mrs. Selby remarking that she 
should not suppose anything of that kind would be of the 
least use. 

The final arrangements made, Ruth had a brief interview 
with Mr. Hargrave, and started back feeling encouraged 
in every sense, and quite ready, if necessary, to resist any 
interference from the Merritts. 

She found a chance to give the old lady a word of 
encouragement, and of warning as well, to do or say 
nothing which would complicate matters, and at the tea- 
table took advantage of the first lull in the conversation 
to say quietly: 

“I will have to say good-by to you all to-morrow. Mr. 


80 


BUTE ENDICOTr 8 WAY. 


Hargrave’s cousin, Mrs. Selb}^ who keeps house for him, 
has engaged some nice rooms for me, more convenient to 
my work, and — of course I know I must be more or less 
in your way.” 

There was absolute silence for a moment, Mr. Merritt’s 
eyes staring straight and angrily upon Ruth. Sammy 
burst suddenly into a loud laugh in which Peter the second 
joined, and then Mr. Merritt found voice to say: 

‘‘So you’re going away, after all, are you? Well, my 
dear,” — w'ith a glance at his wife, — “it’s just as I told you. 
What’s the use of looking for gratitude nowadays ?” 

“Is it a question of gratitude?” said Ruth sj^iritedly. 
“Since you force me to say it, let me assure you, Mr. 
Merritt, I am well aware that any kindness you have 
shown me was on the strength of ray supposed expecta- 
tions, and you could hardly think I would not feel myself 
better off in every way when I had relieved you of all 
thought of my daily welfare.” 

She waited a moment and concluded : 

“You have also said repeatedly that Mrs. Chesley was — 
an unwelcome burden, and so I have entered into an 
arrangement with her to come and live with me as — well, 
as a mother, for of course I could not live all alone. I 
have told Mr. Hargrave all about it, and he thoroughly 
approves, and has been kind enough to see that I will have 
any furniture we may need.” 

Ruth had said her say, and was well content to be 
silent while the family stormily discussed the question. 
It w^as so clear that she was in the right that no one of 
them dared actually to oppose her, and when she left the 
table she said finally that as her arrangements were all 
made she would pack her trunk that night and be ready 
to move in the morning, adding that if Mr. Merritt would 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


81 


let her know how far she was indebted to him she would 
see that the amount was returned out of her weekly salaiy, 
if only by a dollar at a time. 

In her own room Ruth sat down to consider the ways 
and means of the future. Seven dollars a week was not a 
very large income, as she knew, to begin housekeeping 
upon, but she had various trinkets which she decided to 
dispose of, and before any of the household were awake 
in the morning ran up to consult Mrs. Chesley on this 
subject. 

‘‘The money will be much more useful to me, Cousin 
Jane,” said Ruth, “than a few pieces of jewelry could 
ever be. Only a few of them are presents, and those I 
will keep. What I bought for myself I need have no 
sentiment about.” 

She had brought up her dressing-case with her, and now 
displayed the valuables hidden in its secret drawer. 

There were bracelets, half a dozen rings, three necklaces, 
and several pairs of earrings, all of which Mrs. Chesley 
examined critically, declaring that they ought to be able 
to start quite a little bank account on what they would 
bring. 

“1 know a lady,” said Mrs. Chesley, “a Mrs. Fulgrave, 
who, I am almost sure, would buy them herself and give 
you a good price. That is, my dear, if you are sure you 
don’t want them.” 

“I am — quite sure,” said Ruth lightly; “at least 1 know 
that I would infinitely rather have the money they will 
bring, and as soon as we are moved you might take them 
to her, unless you think it would be better to have some- 
thing in hand at once.” 

“I do think so,” said Mrs. Chesley. “In the start of 
housekeeping there are always certain expenses to be met 


82 


RUTH EHDICOTT^S WAT. 


which call for ready money, and if you like, when you go 
out to your work take me with you, and I will call at my 
friend’s and report what she has to say before you come 
home, and no one else need be the wiser.” 

No one offered the slightest opposition to Mrs. Chesley ’s 
accompanying Ruth, although Lucilla was filled with 
curiosity as to the nature of her errand, and a sense of 
coming emancipation made Mrs. Chesley cheerful and 
companionable. Ruth left her at the door of her friend’s 
house, after giving her Mr. Hargrave’s exact address and 
fixing a time for her to call there, and during the next 
two hours, although she worked carefully, endeavoring in 
every way to please her employer, she could not keep her 
mind entirely free from thoughts of her old friend. 

Luncheon was no sooner over than Ruth’s visitor was 
announced, and Mr. Hargrave, evidently much amused 
by the young girl’s enthusiasm over her new plan, urged 
that she go at once with the old lady and complete her 
housekeeping arrangements. 

‘H shall not feel satisfied, my dear,” he said gravely, 
‘‘until I hear that you are in a comfortable little place of 
your own, and it would amuse and interest me to know 
how things are faring with you.” 


CHAPTER XL 


They were no sooner in the street than Mrs. Chesley 
made haste to tell her companion of her success in dispos- 
ing of a part of her jewelry. 

‘‘What do you think of sixty-five dollars,” she said 
eagerly, “for the rings alone? Of course, I know they 
are worth more, or that is, would be, if we went to buy 
them in a store, but you see my friend would not have 
made the purchase at all unless she had got them at a bar- 
gain.” 

“Why, Cousin Jane!” exclaimed Ruth, “that amount 
will surely start us nicely, together with Mr. Hargrave’s 
kindness, and what a relief it will be when we are safely rid 
of the Merritts! Think of the freedom it will give us, and 
while I am away you can be keeping house. I onl}^ hope 
you won’t feel lonely.” 

“Not a bit of it,” exclaimed Mrs. Chesley. “As I said 
before, my dear, it is new life to me.” 

The rooms were soon reached and the landlady was all 
smiles as she conducted them upstairs, Ruth explaining 
that at any moment some furniture would arrive and that 
they intended to take possession of their little home early 
the next day. 

It occurred to her while she was speaking that it might 
save her old friend some annoyance not to return to the 
Merritts’ even for the night, and on making the suggestion, 
Mrs. Renfrew expressed herself as perfectly willing to 
look after Ruth’s cousin, as she called her. 

83 


84 


BUTH ENDICOTT’S WAY, 


‘‘And it.maybe, Cousin Jane,” whispered Ruth, on leav- 
ing, “that I will get back to-night myself. You can 
easily imagine that there will be small comfort in remain- 
ing up there even for a few hours.” 

After paying the rent of the rooms for two weeks in 
advance, Ruth left two dollars with the landlady for Mrs. 
Chesley’s needs in case she herself did not return, and of 
course it was an understood thing that when the furniture 
from Mr. Hargrave arrived it would be attended to. 

Life and hope and almost happiness seemed to come 
back to the young girl as she hastened along the street, 
pausing on her way uptown to let her kind friend and 
patron know that the final arrangements were made, and to 
say that she might be a little late on the following morn- 
ing, but would make up the time lost later in the day. 
Mrs. Selby assured her before leaving that she had not 
seen Mr. Hargrave so bright and interested in months. 

“It is ten times better for him,” said the good-humored 
woman, “than all that Oriental stuff he bothers his brain 
with, and I only hope nothing will prevent your getting 
into your new quarters to-night. The furniture has 
already been sent down there.” 

Ruth was received with frigid politeness by Lucilla, 
who seemed to take it for granted that she had only re- 
turned to pack her things, and remarked that “it Avouldn’t 
take long to put up the few odd and ends belonging to 
Mrs. Chesley.” 

Ruth’s fingers flew over her own packing, and within 
two hours she was ready for such a farewell as the Mer- 
ritts chose to extend to her. It was evident that the male 
members of the family were not yet satisfied as to just 
how Ruth should be treated — whether she might not some 
of these days turn out a person of more consequence, or 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT. 


85 


only continue as a poor, hard-working relation, and hav- 
ing impressed these views upon the ladies of the house they 
said their good-bys in a way which Ruth could have 
taken to be friendly if she liked, and at tlie very last Mrs. 
Merritt murmured something about hoping they would 
meet again. 

“ When my little rooms are in order,” said Ruth smiling, 
I will send you a line, Mrs. Merritt, and you and the girls 
must call and see me.” 

A feebly uttered: “Well — yes — thanks,” from Mrs. 
Merritt, ended the interview, and as Ruth left the house 
she decided it would be many a day before, of her own 
accord, she entered it again. Out of her little fortune, 
she had left for Mr. Merritt the few dollars he said were 
due, obtaining a business-like receipt from Lucilla. She 
would have liked to have seen the baby of the family for 
something like an affectionate good-by, but the little girl 
was out, Mrs. Merritt said, with Katie. “But,” she 
added, “some other time you can see her, I expect.” 

And with this, Ruth w^as free of the place, as she 
devoutedly hoped, forever. 

Mrs. Renfew met her at the door to exclaim over the 
fine furniture which had arrived, and Ruth on reaching 
her little sky parlor found Mrs. Chesley in a great state of 
excitement and delight. Bare as the rooms were they had 
been thoroughly cleaned, and it only remained for the pair 
of friends to arrange the rooms to their own satisfaction. 
The parlor wmuld have to serve them for a kitchen and 
dining-room as well, but it was a large room and Ruth 
divided it, so to speak, by the arrangement of the furniture, 
into two parts. A large cupboard was reserved for their 
cooking utensils, china, etc., while the kerosene stove 
which Mrs. Renfrew had provided could easily stand on 


86 


BUTE ENDIGOTT^S WAT, 


the lower shelf. One table was to be kept exclusively, 
as Ruth said, laughing, ‘‘for the dining-room end of the 
room,” while that in the deep old-fashioned window was 
to be for their sewing, writing, etc. Two easy chairs of 
comfortable dimensions had comedown with the furniture, 
and a nice lounge and pretty bookcase, while in the bed- 
rooms were cots Avhich Ruth judged had been purchased 
expressly for her new venture. Bedding of an excellent 
description had also arrived and chintz curtaining, which 
pleased Ruth greatly. It was such a pretty, old-fashioned 
pattern of blue on a white ground, while the carpeting for 
the rooms consisted of half a dozen rugs, all of good quality 
and in the excellent taste which pervaded everything she 
had seen in Mr. Hargrave’s house. 

“And now. Aunt Jane,” said Ruth, when they had made 
their apartment thoroughly habitable for the night, “let 
us go out and do our marketing. I don’t know how you 
feel, but I’m decidedly hungry. Let us see how much 
we dare spend.” 

Mrs. Chesley entered with almost childish enthusiasm 
into their first expedition, only begging that Ruth would 
not spend too much money just at first, and a very wise 
suggestion was that they should start a little bank account 
for the inevitable rainy day. 

From store to store they went in the neighborhood, being 
received with the deferential politeness due to newcomei's, 
and five dollars laid in quite a little supply of what they 
would need for their breakfast and supper — it being under- 
stood that Ruth was to lunch daily at her employer’s house. 
The purchase of a brand-new and really very pretty market 
basket completed Ruth’s sense of being a housekeeper in 
earnest, and they went home to put their little stores away 
and make their first entries in Ruth’s account book. She 


RUTH ENDIC0TT8 WAY, 


87 


labeled it: “Household Accounts of Mrs. Chesley and Miss 
Endicott, July 15 , 18 — . 

“I wonder,” said the young girl thoughtfully, ‘‘wdiat 
we will have to say to each other. Cousin Jane, about our 
undertaking a year from to-day. Let us only hope that 
we can congratulate ourselves then upon its having been 
a success. And now for our first little supper together,” 
she added brightly, “and let us resolve to forget everything 
connected with the Merritt experience. You may be very 
sure they will be coming down here to see us before very 
long. Curiosity alone, if nothing else, will bring them.” 

Needless to say that first meal together was thoroughly 
enjoyed, and, simple though it was, the food was of the best 
quality and set out on their dining table as daintily as 
Ruth’s good taste could suggest. The crisp lettuce with 
the French dressing Mrs. Chesley made — the cold ham and 
rolls, with a cup of well-brewed tea, and a few cream 
cakes, made a supper, as Mrs. Chesley declared, fit for a 
king, and how pleasant it was for Ruth to sit quietly 
watching her companion as she washed their dishes, and 
put things tidily aw^ay, a bright and happy look making 
her face wonderfully attractive. 

A little chat in the cool summer darkness in their win- 
dow followed, and Ruth had the satisfaction of feeling 
that, however lonely her own life might be at times, she 
had been able to bring peace and happiness to one human 
being at least. Long after her old friend was sleeping 
tranquilly, the young girl remained seated in the window 
looking out on the star-strewn heavens, her heait full of 
gratitude to the Giver of all good for the new turn in the 
events of her life. A feeling of inexpressible tenderness 
mingled with her gratitude as she thought of Mr. Hargrave, 
and she determined to spare no effort in her work or com- 


88 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


panionship to cheer his hard lot in life. It was delightful 
to fall asleep with no dread of the morrow ! Ruth slept 
dreamlessly that first night in her new home, to awake with 
the morning sunshine streaming into the room and to find 
Mrs. Chesley already up and dressed, quite as anxious, 
apparently, as she was herself to begin another day. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Me. IIakgrave was not in the library when Ruth 
entered it, but a gentleman standing in the window turned 
to say politely : 

“Miss Endioott, T presume? My cousin told me to 
expect you and introduce myself. I am Robert Har- 
grave,” he added, liolding out his hand, which Ruth took 
at once, deciding even in this first glance that Mr. Har- 
grave’s cousin was fine-looking, and, if not actually hand- 
some, very attractive in appearance. A tall, broad- 
shouldered young fellow, carrying himself well, with that 
easy air of distinction which comes from early training as 
well as instinctive refinement. His rather spare face was 
dark in coloring, the eyes deep-set and of a clear hazel — the 
mouth firm in expression, shaded by a small dark mus- 
tache. If in repose the face was somewhat sombre, his 
smile brightened it in a flash, seeming to come from a 
thoroughly kindly heart. 

“I am so pleased,” said young Hargrave, “to think my 
cousin has your assistance. Has he told you that he has 
tried half a dozen secretaries at different times, but they 
never answered his expectation ? The last was a terrible 
failure.” Young Hargrave laughed and continued: 
“She was a maiden lady of the gushing type, who spent 
half her time sympathizing with my cousin on what she 
always referred to as his ‘terrible affliction,’ and I leave 
you to imagine whether that was calculated to encourage 
him. It reached a final point of exasperation when she 
took to weeping over everything personal in his letters, 


69 


90 


RUTH ENDICOTTS WAY. 


and Mrs. Selby and I had to come to Cousin John’s rescue 
and get rid of his too tender-hearted companion. He gave 
her a liberal check on departing, and I assure you we 
dreaded the next experiment.” 

‘‘If I can only continue to please him,” said Ruth 
earnestly, “it will be a greater satisfaction to me than you 
can imagine. I am obliged to earn my own living, and I 
cannot think of a more congenial occupation than that Mr. 
Hargrave has given me. My one trouble is,” she added, 
wdth a swift blush, “that I find myself remarkably defi- 
cient on some points which every schoolgirl, one would 
think, ought to understand. You see I slighted a good 
many things, I am sure, at school, not realizing their 
importance. Reading was my greatest enjoyment, and I 
find half my education has come from it. But you 
would be surprised to know how ignorant I am of the 
rudiments. Still I intend to study by myself every even- 
ing, and Mr. Hargrave, I am sure, will point out my 
faults and give me a chance to correct them.” 

The door was opened now by the master of the house, 
who came in with Gregson at his side. 

“So you have introduced yourselves to each other,” he 
said pleasantly, “and I judge from the sound of your 
voices you have had some congenial topic of conversa- 
tion.” 

“You were the subject. Cousin John,” said young Har- 
grave laughing, “and I was telling Miss Endicott what a 
relief it is to me to find you so well off, and I recalled our 
w^eeping friend, you remember.” 

Mr. Hargrave raised his hand as if to ward off any allu- 
sion to that Niobe of the past, shaking his head with 
horror at the very thought of that experience. 

“I often wonder, though,” he said, “who she is crying 


RUTH ENDIGOTT'S WAY. 


91 


over now. She was a woman positively afflicted with 
sentimentality. Miss Endicott. Her only happiness in 
life seemed to be lamenting something. Now then, 
Robert,” he continued, “can you amuse yourself with the 
morning paper for a short time until I dictate one or two 
important letters to Miss Endicott? after which we can 
discuss our business matter a little further.” 

Young Hargrave made himself very comfortable in one 
of the windows, taking up the Tribune.^ and whether he 
read or not he offered no interruption to the work going 
on at the centre table, but now and then took a quiet look 
at the graceful, girlish figure of his cousin’s secretary, 
watching the composed and dignified manner with which 
she attended to the business in hand. Once more her 
knowledge of German was put to use, Mr. Hargrave dicta- 
ting quite a long letter in that language, now and again 
pausing to discuss the construction of a sentence with Ruth, 
whose replies showed the young man that if, as she said, 
she was lacking in the rudiments of education, her mind 
was certainly both keen and cultivated. Her suggestions 
were always marked by delicate good taste, and it pleased 
the young man to see how thoroughly interested his cousin 
was in their occupation. 

“If it can only last!” thought young Hargrave, “it 
seems too good to be true. Such a girl is sure to marry 
at an early day, and then, of course, we will have to begin 
everything all over again.” 

Luncheon at the appointed hour was the first interrup- 
tion to work, and Mr. Hargrave dismissed Ruth and his 
cousin for the time being, asking the young man to come 
up directly the meal was over for a final talk on the busi- 
ness question they had under discussion. 

As the dining-room door was opened, Ruth heard a scream 


92 


BUTH ENDICOTT' 8 WAT. 


of delight, and in the next instant Margaret Powers had 
her in a tight embrace, and Mrs. Selby exclaimed that the 
child had begged of her to let her take Ruth by surprise. 

“O Ruth, my darling!'^'* exclaimed the younger girl, 
fairly dancing about in her glee, “to think when I was 
afraid I had lost you that I should find you here in my own 
guardian’s house! I didn’t know whether to be glad 
or sorry that I was to come here, but now I am so glad I 
don’t know what to do!” 

Young Hargrave looked on in quiet amusement at the 
scene. He had not particularly relished the prospect of his 
young relative’s taking up her residence in the house, 
but it was evident that Miss Endicott would be a helpful 
and encouraging influence, so that, as he reflected, she was 
more of a boon than ever. 

Margaret’s tongue flew fast while the meal progressed, 
and she scarcely waited for answers to her various ques- 
tions. Did Ruth have to be busy all day? Where did 
she live? When could she go to see her? etc., etc., until 
at last Mrs. Selby was forced to interfere, begging of the 
child to leave their visitor at least long enough in peace to 
enjoy her luncheon, and Ruth compromised matters by 
inviting Margaret to call upon her as soon as possible. 

“Cousin Robert,” she said eagerly, “you will take me, 
won’t you? for I want so much to go and see Ruth, but I 
don’t know how to find my way about alone.” 

“May I be included in your invitation. Miss Endicott,” 
said the young man, meeting Ruth’s uplifted eyes with a 
twinkle of amusement in his own. “I assure you it Avill 
give me the greatest pleasure.” 

“Then you Avill have to call late in the afternoon or in 
the evening,” saidRutli, “and 1 really think,” she added, 
“I must invite you to take tea with me some evening and 


nUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY. 


93 


show you the remarkable contrivances my companion and 
I liave for cooking and housekeeping generall3\ There is 
just one thing we need in our sky parlor,” she went on, ‘Ho 
make it seem like home to me, and that I shall try to 
invest in next month — a piano. I feel perfectly stranded 
Avithout the companionship of one, and fortunately our 
parlor is large.” 

“I know the kind of house,” said young Hargrave 
quickly; “my cousin owns tAVo or three of them. They 
were built in the days when comfort and solidity were the 
first consideration in home. I often wonder if those old 
Avails could talk Avhat tales they Avould have to tell.” 

“Precisely,” answered Ruth. “I sat star-gazing a long 
time last night, and I felt as if I could Aveave quite a 
romance out of my new surroundings. Such a house is full 
of echoes, it seems to me, from that dignified old-fashioned 
long ago when New York Avas proud of itself as a city.” 

“As in my young daj’^s,” said Mrs. Selby, Avith a sigh. 
“That was the time when, as Mr. Hargrave says, people 
had time to live and think of something beyond dress and 
display. And yet, as I remember it,” she went on, “what 
we had to Avear Avas always of the best. It Avas expected 
to last a lifetime. As a young girl, I wore silk dresses 
Avhich had belonged to my mother’s Avedding outfit, and 
any bits of lace or finery of the kind had been in the family 
for years. We used to call it ‘having antecedents’ when 
we had one of my mother’s dresses made over again, and I 
Avell remember the delight I took in a soft French merino 
purchased by an aunt of mine expressly for me.” 

“That must have been very funny,” exclaimed Margaret; 
“ I am wild to go out and buy a lot of neAV things if Mr. Har- 
grave will let me. I have a list a yard long all made out,” 

“Margaret,” said young Hargrave, with mock solemnity. 


94 


BUTE ENDICOTT'8 WAY, 


‘‘don’t you know, iny child, you are still a minor, and you 
can’t spend ten cents without permission ?” 

Margaret stared an instant and then, shook her curly 
little head defiantly. 

“I don’t believe my guardian will say that to me,” 
she declared; “I am going to coax him into giving me a 
big allowance, for I have heaps of things I want to do 
with it.” 

Ruth found it very hard to get a^vay from her little 
friend, even when young Hargrave joined her in the parlor 
requesting Miss Endicott to see his cousin a few moments 
before leaving, and directly she was in the library again 
Ruth mentioned her pleasure in meeting her old school- 
mate, adding a request that Margaret might be allowed to 
come and see her very soon. 

Mr. Hargrave smiled and sighed together. 

“If you can put up with her,” he said quietly, “it 
would give me the utmost satisfaction to let her visit you. 
Poor child ! she has not the least idea of the responsibilities 
of life in any shape or form, and my own position as her 
guardian is a very difiicult one. I fear to lose her confi- 
dence by dictating and restraining her too much, but on 
the other hand with her impulsive, warm-hearted disposi- 
tion and rather high-strung nature, she would be easily 
the prey of the first fortune hunter who took her fancy, 
and she will be absolutely her own mistress when she 
comes of age, so that our only hope is in cultivating her 
common sense and good judgment. I am delighted to find 
she is so fond of you, for the influence of a girl friend will 
be far better than any I can exercise over her.” 

“I think I understand her,” said Ruth gentl3^ “All 
her faults are surface ones, but I never found the time 
when I lost her confidence, or m^^influence over her, after 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. ' 


95 


the first and only day we ever had a contention. Then, 
while she was mainly in the right, she was wrong in her 
constant defiance of a teacher whom she specially disliked, 
and it was hard work to make her peaceful during certain 
hours of study. Miss Daintrey was very good to me in 
giving me so much freedom, and so I could keep Margaret 
with me whenever I liked and contrived to quiet her little 
fits of rebellion.” 

Work was resumed for a short time now — a few business 
letters dictated, and Ruth’s labors for the day w’ere over. 

Once more she had to allow Margaret to embrace her 
fervently and renew the invitation to tea for the next 
evening. 

‘‘This will be pleasant news to take back to Mrs. 
Chesley,” the young girl said to Mrs. Selby, in leaving, 
“and it will do us both good, for as I tell her, we are like 
a pair of old maids and liable to get very cranky if w^e see 
nothing of the outside world.” 

“Be careful how you give rash invitations,” said Mrs. 
Selby, laughing, “or you will find that when I want to 
get rid of my young people I will pack them olf at once 
to you.” 

“I shall be only too delighted,” said Ruth brightl}^ 
“for simple as our little place is, it will give us a more 
homelike feeling to be able to entertain our friends, even 
in a quiet way, and Margaret,” she added, resting her 
hand lightly on the young girl’s head, “seems like a little 
sister of my own.” 

Margaret said nothing, but looked at Ruth with a mix- 
ture of adoration and delight. 

“I won’t mind being here a bit now,” she remarked; 
“I couldnH be lonesome if I could see Ruth even once in 
a while.” 


CHAPTER Xlir. 


Altogether Ruth thought she was justified in feeling 
encouraged by her day’s experience, and she smiled to 
herself, wondering how she would find her friend and 
companion upon reaching home. 

Mrs. Chesley evidently had been watching anxiously for 
her coming, from the way she sprang forward to meet 
her, and it would appear as though the old lady had almost 
thought Ruth might have intended to desert her from the 
anxious tone in which she remarked: 

‘‘So you did come back, did you, my dear.” Mrs. 
Chesley drew a long sigh. “1 was afraid — perhaps ” 

Ruth laughed lightly. 

“That I had decided to run away?” she enquired. 
“Ah no, my dear friend. Not with the prospect of a 
home and work and such a faithful ally as I am sure you 
will be. Now,” she continued, after she had laid aside 
her wraps, “we are to begin housekeeping in earnest with 
a nice little supper and then a chat over the day’s events.” 

There was almost the fun of a picnic, Ruth declared, in 
preparing their simple evening meal — and it was set out 
as daintily as possible, and the pair of friends sat down to 
enjoy it as they certainly never had any meal at Mr. Mer- 
ritt’s. Ruth was thoroughly conscious not only of the 
home sense in everything, even in this first start in life, 
but of the fact that her presence and companionship were 
of actual good to Mrs. Chesley. There was no doubt she 
would have her lachrymose hours, and inclination to take 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


97 


tLe dark side of tkiiigs, but she already looked a different 
person, and her anxiety to hear all that Ruth had to say 
stimulated the young girl to a new interest in her own 
employment. She was greatly pleased with the prospect 
of a visit from Ruth’s former schoolmate, and enquired 
whether young Mr. Hargrave was too fine a personage to 
enjoy a call upon them in their humble quarters. 

Ruth’s lip curled and her head went a trifle higher as 
she replaced some of the dishes in their cupboard. 

‘Hf he is, then,” she said calmly, “it only rests with 
him not to call again. But to do him justice,” she added, 
“there is a keen, honest look about his face which makes 
me think it very unlikely he would disdain simplicity. 
And oh. Cousin Jane,” she exclaimed suddenly, “what 
a tcide difference there is between that — and vulgarity!” 

“You may well say so,” said Mrs. Chesley. “Do you 
know, my dear, sitting here to-day and looking about at 
our little parlor, or whatever you ma}^- chose to call it, and 
even out of our window here, I had a feeling which I can’t 
put into words. It was as though 1 had been living in 
the midst of a storm and suddenly found quiet and 
security.” 

“And that is what it shall be,” said Ruth gently, “and 
we’ll have some amusement and pleasure too. I want to 
see you grow young again.” 

Ruth had determined to be business-like from the start 
— conscious perhaps that she must not allow herself to 
drift into carelessness on such matters. Naturally, the 
girl knew little about the ills of poverty, but she liad an 
instinctive — I had better call it high-bred horror — of debt. 
Poverty would not dismay her half so much, and she was 
well aware that their small amount of capital on hand 
would not last long in case of sickness or any emergency, 


98 


BUTE ENDIGOTT'8 WAY, 


and had resolved that it ought to be laid aside while they 
could try to live perhaps comfortably enough on what she 
was earning. 

“Oh, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Chesley, when Ruth 
had given her this opinion, “if I had only been as wise as 
that when I was your age, how different things would 
have been ! But I never could believe then that I’d ever 
need for anything. I made money and had a little besides 
coming in, and I spent it just as it came. I used to laugh 
at the idea of ever being useless or needing anything in 
my old age, and my hand was in my pocket for everyone 
that came along.” 

“I can well imagine,” said Ruth, looking earnestly at 
her old friend, “what that feeling would be, and young as 
I am I think I ought to guard against it in myself. On 
the whole, my short experience at the Merritts,” she 
added, “was very good for me. It made me realize what 
dependence would mean — and oh, how near we both came 
to having to endure it.” 

Ruth smiled quizzically. 

“What would they say, I wonder,” she went on gayl}^, 
“if they could look in upon our little home, if we may 
call it so.” 

Mrs. Chesley clasped her hands tightly together. 

“I am sure I don’t want to be mean in any way,” she 
remarked, “but it would do my heart good to have them 
call upon us. And you needn’t be afraid; they’ll be sure 
to come. They’ll be wild to find out just how we are 
getting along.” 

She glanced around the little room and Ruth, interpret- 
ing the look, said she could well imagine how they would 
fill it — such an active noisy company as they would make. 
And then ghe went on to speak of her expected visit from 


RUTH ENDICOTT'8 WAY. 


99 


Margaret Powers, and Robert Hargrave. They en- 
joyed planning for it possibly on the morrow. The talk 
drifted on to idle topics, Mrs. Chesley having a piece of 
sewing in her hand, which she was doing in such an accom- 
plished manner that Ruth exclaimed mournfully: 

“There’s something, Aunt Jane, you could teach me how 
to do well, if you w’ould. Of course I can sew after a 
fashion, but I don’t really do it well, and even Miss 
Daintrey, whom I see now was so indulgent to me, found 
fault many times with me on -this score. She used to say, 
and I am sure she was right, that every woman ought to 
be as proficient with her needle as with her arithmetic. 
I can see by the way you take your work in your hand 
that you know just what you are doing.” 

Mrs. Chesley ’s eyes lighted with pleasure. 

“I ought to know something about it,” she said quietl}^ 
“as the finest kind of sewing was my trade for years. 
Before I had that terrible illness,” she went on, “I did all 
kinds of the most delicate needlework. I had my cus- 
tomers, I assure you, among the very highest in the land, 
and could command my own prices. When I think of the 
3^ards upon yards of grass linen ruffling I have hemmed by 
hand and edged with thread lace for the garments I made, 
I wonder my eyes held out.” 

“And why did you give it up?” enquired Ruth, feeling 
interested, as most of young people are, with the experi- 
ences of their elders. 

“Why?” enquired Mrs. Chesley gravely; “well, it’s 
something of a story; some day I’ll tell it all to you, per- 
haps. You see, first my husband, poor fellow, had a long 
and painful illness, and it pretty well used up what we had 
saved to take care of him — and after that, when it was all 
over, I went back to work until my own health Avas nearly 


100 


BUTII ENDICOTrS WAY, 


broken down, and when I lost ray old customers I found 
it very hard to get new ones. Even a few months of drop- 
ping out of a trade like mine puts you away back. Then ray 
sickness began. I lay months and months perfectly pros- 
trated — the doctors said it was all the anxiety 1 had gone 
through with. My few things were sold one after the 
other, and then it was that the Merritts decided to offer me 
a home. That’s just the thread of the story. There is 
more to it. I might tell you some day.” 

The calm and repose of the evening comforted Ruth 
inexpressibly, although she felt an undercurrent of some- 
thing like joyous excitement in the prospect even of be- 
ginning work again, and long after her companion was 
sleeping peacefully she laid awake, her eyes wide open in 
the darkness, recalling all the scenes of the day. But oh, 
how thankful she felt — how hopeful! She wondered how 
Mr. Hargrave was faring at this moment? Did he spend 
lonely evenings — when his affliction would become even 
more insupportable? She decided to give little Margaret 
a few suggestions as to what she might do or be for her 
guardian’s comfort and solace. And she was thoroughly 
mistaken, she felt sure, in her estimate of her dear little 
friend’s character if there was not an ardent spirit of 
generosit}^ in the girl — a strong power of loving and 
serving others, which, if rightly directed, would make 
a noble woman of her and a helpful element in Mr. 
Hargrave’s life. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


It bad been a quiet day, so far as externals went, for 
Margaret, one wbicli she would remember all her life. Yet 
a day really of inward excitement, for not only had she 
once more met her dear Ruth Endicott, but she found her- 
self for the first time in many years free from all school 
restraint and enjoying home life. Tlie quiet of the fine 
old house did not in any way depress her. On the con- 
trary, it pleased her imagination to wander about the 
seldom-used rooms, where her own footsteps were the only 
audible sounds. She had been half afraid at first to pene- 
trate to the drawing-room, which seemed to be a sacred, 
unused part of the mansion. But finding herself alone 
on the landing upon which it opened, Margaret turned 
the handle of the centre door and went in, gazing about in 
admiration and a little awe at what she found there. For 
it was the dwelling of the Hargraves of many generations, 
and the room, beautiful, and fine in proportion, with a 
frescoed ceiling and hangings of pale gray damask, gave 
evidences of former occupancy and ownership — indeed it 
indicated in certain ways the various lives to which it had 
once meant the centre of a perfect home. The portraits 
on the walls, — there v/ere half a dozen of imposing size and 
treatment, — the antique pieces of furniture, the ornaments 
on both mantels, and the various objects of art or bric-a- 
brac, all spoke of the calmly ordered and cultivated tastes 
which this present representative of the race — John Har- 
grave — had inherited, with so fine a quality of his own 

101 


102 


RUTH ENDICOTT 8 WAY. 


added to them. Not that little Margaret for an instant 
put such a thought into words. But she realized that there 
was something hallowed in the beautiful room which 
represented the family to which her guardian and she, per- 
haps, herself, one could say, belonged, and after an inspec- 
tion of various interesting articles which seemed to have 
been gathered from many climes and peoples the girl 
moved from one portrait to another, looking at them almost 
as though they were the living representatives of tlieir 
race. The eyes and lips of a lad of sixteen, perhaps, whose 
portrait hung at the lower end of the room, seemed to be 
smiling down upon her in so friendly a fashion that she 
found herself involuntarily returning the look and nodding 
to the boy, who she did not see at first was the lonely 
student now upstairs. It took Margaret a few minutes to 
realize that this was her cousin John’s portrait, but some- 
thing in the pride and yet sweetness of the face — even the 
way the hair waved upon the brow — impressed her as the 
same, and a feeling of pity swept across her heart to think 
of him in a world of darkness and almost solitude. Mar- 
garet gave a little shiver, half compassion, half nervous 
dread as to what the future might bring anyone, after see- 
ing this, and moved on to the half length of a pretty dark- 
eyed girl in a white muslin gown with blue ribbons, and a 
bunch of wild roses held loosely in her hands. How inter- 
esting it would be, she thought, to find out whom these por- 
traits represented — and the next one, who was she? an 
elderly lady, severe and rather haughty in expression, with 
jewels at her neck and in her ears and the elegance of 
black velvet and rich point lace in her costume. 

“Did all these people,” thought Mr. Hargrave’s young 
visitor, “live here? How different the house must have 
seemed then?” and presently she turned to examine some 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT, 


103 


books on a table at the lower end of the room. Among 
them was an album, such as was popular among the young 
people of twenty years ago, in which all manner of verses 
were inscribed — sentiments expressive of undying friend- 
ship, absolute unforgetfulness, and constancy of death. 
Some of the girls at school had autograph albums, but 
they were not like this old-fashioned green book, with its 
sprinkling of illustrations — landscapes of romantic char- 
acter or sentimental-looking ladies leaning on a window 
ledge or pensively resting their heads against the very 
whitest of hands. 

As she turned the pages, with the feeling of derision with 
which one looks at old-fashioned costumes, forgetting that 
ten years hence what charms the eye to-day will be equally 
strange to those who see our styles portrayed, a name caught 
her attention and she read eagerly a little verse of poetry, 
which amounted to nothing in itself, but w’as signed. 
“Yours ever, Philip Endicott.” 

This, then, might have been some relation of Ruth’s, 
and the young girl hesitated between her desire to at once 
ask Mrs. Selby or Mr. Hargrave for an explanation of it, 
or wait until she could tell Ruth of it herself. 

She was standing with the book open in her hand, still 
irresolute, when the door opened upon Mrs. Selby, who 
came bustling in, evidently not knowing wdiat to make of 
their guest’s taking possession of the drawing-room with 
so little ceremony. 

But Margaret was perfectly unabashed. She held the 
old album closed in her hand and said with smiling assur- 
ance: 

“Oh, Mrs. Selby! I have found such an entertaining 
little book; may I take it up to my room?” 

“Indeed, my dear, I am afraid you cannot,” said Mrs. 


104 


BUTII ENDIGOrrS WAT. 


Selby, now decided that her cousin’s guest should be made 
to feel herself not so thoroughly at home. “Mr. Har- 
grave would not like it at all if he thought the books were 
carried around the house that way. Anyhow, what is 
it?” the lady continued, peering over Margaret’s shoulder 
with some curiosity as to what had interested their guest 
in any of the, to her, very dull works of literature on the 
drawing-room table. 

Margaret, however, had shut the book with a little snap 
and half flung it back in its place. 

“It’s nothing but a little album,” she said, tossing her 
head; “I wasn’t going to hurt it. I only wanted to look 
it over more carefully.” 

“Well, never mind, never mind,” said Mrs. Selby, 
pushing the book on to a different angle and speaking in 
a peculiarly soothing tone, which Margaret thought exas- 
perating; “if you want a nice book to read I’ll get you 
one upstairs.” 

“Never mind,” retorted Margaret, “I don’t care very 
much for reading. There’s always so much to skip before 
you get to the interesting parts, and in most of story 
books I think the people act like fools.” 

Mrs. Selby was thoroughly shocked, but could not 
decide whether it would be wiser to admonish the girl with 
a little lecture or allow it to pass in consideration of her 
being so much of a stranger. Margaret, however, settled 
the question very peremptorily by saying: 

“I can’t see what harm there was in my looking at an 
old trumpery book like that — and do you never use this 
room, Mrs. Selby, that you seem to think I ought not to 
have come into it.” 

“My dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Selby, now feeling that 
conciliation was her only course, “you must not think of 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


105 


such a thing for a moment. It is quite true that we 
seldom use the drawing-room, but that is because poor 
John finds his only amusements in his librar}^, and^^ou see, 
naturally, we have very little company.” 

‘‘Could I never ask anyone here to see me?” demanded 
Margaret, and continued without waiting for an answer; 
“not that there is anybody in particular I care about, 
except Ruth, who comes here anyway; but I was just 
wondering if any of the girls from Enfield did call, 
whether I should be allowed to see them.” 

“There is no question of that,” said Mrs. Selby stiffly; 
“if any suitable people call upon you, you ma}^ be certain 
that no one will object to your receiving them. But I 
think,” she added in a softer tone, “you can understand 
that Mr. Hargrave has to be always our first consideration.” 

Margaret’s really tender little heart softened, and she 
looked down in silence for an instant. 

“I know,” she said humbly; “I ought to have thought 
of that. I hope you w^on’t find me in the w^ay, and I’ll 
try to be good, Mrs. Selby.” 

“That’s the right way to feel, my dear,” said the widow, 
brightening, “and you know you are going to have a nice 
afternoon with your friend Ruth, and we will think of 
some little pleasures for you in the course of a day or two. 
Perhaps Ruth wdll take you out, and if not, I will.” 

“Oh, I will ask Ruth,” exclaimed Margaret joyfully; 
“she is so dear and good, I am sure she will not refuse. 
She was always my best friend at Miss Daintrey’s, and 
I didn’t mind it even 'when she lectured me, for as all the 
girls knew, even those who thought her rather proud or 
stuck up, wdiatever Ruth Endicott said was the truth and 
nothing but it, and if anyone w'as in trouble it was to 
Ruth they were sure to go.” 


106 


Burn ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


“Quite a paragon,” said Mrs. Selby, with a little laugh; 
“I only hope we need find no flaws in your jewel.” 

Margaret looked at her hostess critically for an instant, 
wondering if, by any chance, there was a touch of sarcasm 
in this allusion to her beloved friend. But Mrs. Selby 
evidently had no desire just then to prolong the conversa- 
tion, and Margaret herself thought she would go up to 
inspect the rather drearily large and stately bedroom 
which had been assigned to her, and in which even a 
trunk she had considered so imposing while packing it at 
Miss Daintrey’s looked of no importance whatever. 

“Does anyone ever take a walk in the afternoon?” she 
enquired as she followed Mrs. Selby upstairs. “It seems 
so queer to stay in such a quiet house all the time.” 

“If you would like to go out, my dear,” said Mrs. Selby, 
thinking there might be relief on all sides by such a 
change, “I can send Mary Andrews, the girl who waited 
on you upstairs, out with you for a little walk.” 

“Oh, doV'* exclaimed Margaret desperately; “I begin 
to feel as if I’d choice if I didn’t get out of the house for 
a little while.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


It was with a feeling of almost childlike pleasure that 
Ruth set out on the following morning for her employer’s 
house, knowing how eagerly little Margaret would be 
expecting her, and there was a simple-hearted enjoyment 
too, in preparing for their tea party, as she insisted upon 
calling it. 

Ruth’s taste, in all matters appertaining to home life, "was 
exquisitely dainty, and she had already learned that it cost 
no more to make their little breakfast or tea table attrac- 
tive, so felt quite justified in indulging herself in some 
purchases at a small crockery store near by. An oblong 
glass dish, which cost her ten cents, after its bath in tepid 
water and a brisk polishing, made the radishes and water 
cress look tempting. Eight cents purchased four Japanese 
butter plates, of roc’s egg green, with delicate white 
tracery. In a basket of odd pieces she found a very pretty 
teapot of Oriental ware for tw'enty-five cents, and two 
plates of dull red, with some gilded tracery, which she 
decided would look quite picturesque with their cream 
cheese and cakes. A tall, slender milk jug, with daisies 
on a yellowish ground, fascinated her so that she made up 
her mind, as she told Mrs. Chesley later, that the pretty 
look it would give to their simple tea table was worth the 
twenty-five cents invested in it, while with her remaining 
quarter she purchased four small glass compote dishes and a 
round one to match, in which strawberries or any fruit, 
she decided, would look very appetizing. 

107 


108 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT, 


No young housekeeper ever more thoroughly enjoyed 
her first purchase for home use and adornment than did the 
once petted darling of Miss Daintrey’s school, these simple 
articles bought from a slender purse for the little home she 
had started, and to any of my readers who are inclined to 
think Ruth extravagant, or that she should have been con- 
tent with coarse crockery — scant table linen and a “rough 
and ready mode of living, let me say that Ruth Endi- 
cott’s dollar was as well invested in securing what would 
give a grace and charm to the almost poverty of her new 
life as though she had put the money away at interest in 
the bank — certainly to better advantage than had it been 
spent on a bit of personal finery, since we are only degen- 
erated by narrow means when we allow them to make us 
sordid or to dull our sense of the delicacy belonging to 
higher planes of thought and living, and these touches 
Ruth w^as giving to their little home were the bits of 
poetry in her daily routine which prevented her from dwel- 
ling on the harder side of the new environment-— just as 
listening to some fine uplifting music — perhaps the swelling 
of a church organ, inspires a soul weighed down by asso- 
ciations that are uncongenial or even vTilgarizing. And 
Ruth had determined, if possible, to fulfil her ideal of a 
“gentle life” in more senses than one. 

Mr. Hargrave welcomed her, she fancied, with a certain 
constraint of manner, but the 3^oung girl wisely concluded 
it might only be the result of some unusual depression — 
perhaps physical suifering, and she tried to make his work 
as smooth and easy for him as possible. He dictated one 
or two letters slowly and with evident distaste for the 
task, corrected — rewrote them, and finalh^, with an ap- 
parent pulling of himself together, he exclaimed: 

“The fact is, my dear Miss Endicott, I am not equal to 


nUTII ENDICOTT^S WAT, 


100 


much exertion to-day.” He leaned his arm on the chimney 
piece near which she was standing, and continued in a tone 
of evident depression: “My doctors have compelled me 
to wear this bandage now for weeks. It was after their 
first attempt at operating upon my eyes. I was threatened 
with blindness, they assured me, and you can easily imagine 
what that would mean to a man, if not actually young, still 
in the full vigor and flush of life. I will be thirty-eight 
next Monday,” he continued, “and until this trouble came 
upon me I felt years younger, but now — well, I started to 
tell you, they examined the eyes this morning and declare 
another operation will be necessary, but were frank enough 
to say they cannot speak definitel}^ of the result. It has 
depressed — unnerved me — and besides, Miss Endicott, 
there are some business, or perhaps I had better say, family 
matters which have annoyed me.” 

Ruth was silent save for an exclamation which expressed 
her sympathy and interest, and presently Mr. Hargrave 
continued. 

“You know my ward, Margaret Powers, I am sure even 
better than I do, and how anxious I am to do my best by 
the child, who has a peculiar temperament. Her fortune 
will not amount to much, but she will be absolutely her 
own mistress at the age of eighteen, and I am very anxious 
to qualify her for a future, which may, to a girl of her 
temperament, include many difficulties. It seems to me 
that she ought to be taught something useful, as much as 
a poise for her character as for any real need she may have 
for it. I was wondering whether you could make time — 
well, say to take her for two or three hours per week — 
and teach her something which she might put to practical 
advantage. You see,” he added smiling, “I am very 
much in the dark as to what she can or ought to do, and 


no 


BUTH ENDIGOTT'S WAY. 


perhaps I had better say at once, Miss Endicott, that I 
would be glad to have you exert an influence over her even 
by occasional companionship.” 

Ruth felt the color rising to her cheeks. The compli- 
ment to her own stability pleased her greatly, but she 
could not help wondering how Mr. Hargrave should know 
her well enough in so short a time to trust his little cousin 
to her in a manner which showed his confidence in her 
power to do well. 

Mr. Hargrave continued before she had time to answer. 
‘‘She has some friends — indeed connections of the family 
— who are very anxious to see her and whom she wishes 
to visit. I am not very well acquainted with them and 
not at all sure whether they would be the right sort of 
association for her, and what I wanted to ask of you just 
now. Miss Endicott, is, whether 3^011 would mind taking a 
little trip wdth her and my cousin Robert to the place 
where these people live — even, perhaps, spending a day and 
night there, and you could tell me — not at all,” he added, 
Avith a little laugh, “in the character of a sp3% but only as 
a friend, what sort of people they are, and whether likely 
to do little Margaret harm or good.” 

“Oh, Mr. Hargrave,” exclaimed Ruth quickly, “I feel as 
if I ought to thank you for placing so much confidence in 
me, and indeed I Avill do this, or anything for Margaret, 
that I can. At school, you know ” 

He interrupted her with a light gesture of his hand. 

“I must confess to you,” he declared, “that Miss 
Margaret herself has been regaling me for nearly two hours 
Avith an account of school life, and all you Avere to her in 
her various tribulations. I think she Avas hardly conscious 
of hoAV much she Avas revealing, nor hoAV much better I 
felt acquainted Avith my^ secretaiy, when her artless narra- 


RUTH ENBICOTTS WAY. 


Ill 


live was concluded. She is far shrewder than it would 
seem, and it appears has formed her own conclusions 
about everything and everybody she has seen. It may 
amuse you to know,” he went on, “that her final summing 
up of your good qualities, or I bad better say your char- 
acteristics in general, was, that '‘Ruth Endicott acted on 
the square every time.'' 

Ruth had to laugh, wdiile she made haste to say she was 
afraid Margaret’s judgments were biassed too strongly by 
her affections. 

“You see,” she explained, “the child’s power of loving 
is really intense, and when she found out, no matter how 
much I might complain of her in her conduct to herself, I 
was always her staunch friend, she clung to me with all 
the warmth of her nature, and I am afraid that her good 
opinion is influenced by this, but of course I am grateful 
to her for it. It is a pleasant thing for any of us to feel 
that we are loved. Strange, is it not,” she went on 
thoughtfully, half forgetting the first subject of their con- 
versation, “ how necessary personal affection is to every 
human being. My father, whom I had seen too little to 
really know well, yet had a hold upon my heart because I 
knew that he loved me and — we belonged to each other. 
And with little Margaret,” she added rather hastily, fear- 
ing to be personal or indulge in reminiscences of her own, 
“I believe she grew to be so very fond of me because of 
that sense of — what shall we say — isolation from many 
human ties, or at least the ties of kindred. I feel it, Mr. 
Hargrave,” said the young girl, in her gentlest, but most 
earnest tone, “so strongly at times that it seems to me I 
would give anything to have some one actually belonging 
to me and I to them — some bond of kindred or human 
association which should be all my own. I cannot put the 


112 


BUTE ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


feeling into words exactly, but perhaps you understand 
nae. 1 sometimes think it is the same feeling which makes 
some mothers cling to a wayward child. It is the creature 
which is their own., whom they understand and hold 
fast to, in spite of everything outward to destroy their 
affection.” 

‘‘Ruth,” he exclaimed suddenly, forgetting the more 
formal method of address usual with him, “either you 
have known some deep sorrow, young as you are, or 
your nature is one fitted for some power or achievement. 
From what I have seen and heard, you are only a 3^oung 
slij) of a girl and — I had one glimpse 3^011 know and saw a 
face more of a child’s than a woman’s. What has set your 
pulses beating to such deep measure?” 

Ruth rested her elbows on the table framing her face in 
her hands for a moment, while she let her thoughts drift 
back to scenes, the importance of which she had only half 
considered when they were passing. 

“I think it is this,” she said at last, “from the time 
I was very young I have alwa3"s been more or less in a 
position where I have had to think for other people, or 
perhaps to suggest their actions. And you see, it made 
me analyze and sift things. Even when 1 was called the 
‘Merry Andrew’ of the school, I remember Miss Daintrey 
saying, ‘Ruth Endicott, if 3^011 had lived in the New Eng- 
land of two hundred years ago, what an anxious soul you 
would have been. You would have longed to sing and 
dance and defy every Puritan rule, while you would have 
been tortured by the sense that there was sin in so doing.’ 
I remember that,” added the young girl with a smile, 
which, although he could not see it, gave a lighter tone to 
her voice, “because it struck me at the time as something 
it would do me good to think of, and puzzle out. The 


RUTH ENDICOTr 8 WAT. 


113 


question is, which element ought a person to try first to 
subdue when their nature is so contradictory? I Teel at 
times as if every drop of blood in my veins came from the 
sternest side of Puritanism, and directly springs up the 
longing to be only human — only light-hearted, and let the 
element of downright fun in me liave its way.” 

“Ruth, Ruth!” exclaimed Mr. Hargrave, laughing, “3’ou 
have characterized yourself thoroughly, I am sure. You 
are clearly a graft from the seventeenth century — on to 
the nineteenth, where you have been expanding in spite 
of the original Puritan tree.” 

“Then I can be of no use at all,” sighed Ruth, “a person 
of no definite character whatever. I don’t doubt in the old 
Salem days I would have done something desperate, and 
probably been burned at the stake, but indeed, Mr. Har- 
grave,” she added quickly, “I’m neither so deep nor 
interesting as all this would seem to make me out, and I 
don’t know what possessed me to get into this strain. 
Probably because with my dear old friend and companion, 
Mrs. Chesley, our talk is of the most commonplace, 
homely character. And yet it interests us like a pair of 
children with a new doll’s house. You can’t imagine 
what fun it was to buy some pretty pieces of china for 
our table.” 

She recounted briefly her expejdence at the crockery 
store, and mentioned that she hoped he would allow 
Margaret to come home with her to tea. 

Mr. Hargrave was silent for a moment. Ruth w^onderod 
whether he thought she had taken a liberty in so readily 
inviting his ward. But in an instant he said he would 
consider it a favor if she would allow the child to return 
with her. 

“And in regard to your visit to the country,” he con- 


114 


BUTII ENDIGOTT'S WiiY. 


tinued, “would it be possible. Miss Eudicott,” — the 
formality of address having returned, — “for you to go to 
Martindale, where Margaret’s cousins live, to-morrow?” 

“Indeed 1 will, with pleasure,” answered Ruth. 

“And Robert Hargrave, I am sure, will escort you,” said 
his cousin quickl 3 ^ “Perhaps if he comes in this evening, 
I can send him down to your house to bring Margaret 
home, and he can arrange the details of the journey. He 
knows these people very well, and I shall have the benefit 
of m}^ two young counsellors’ opinions.” 

A few general instructions followed — Mi". Hargrave 
explaining to Ruth that her going to Martindale would 
not seem at all out of place as his messenger and Margaret 
Powders’ dearest friend, and all that she need do there 
was to judge of the household in an impartial manner, so 
that he could form an idea as to what the result of a visit 
to her scarcely known relations would be upon Margaret’s 
mind and perhaps future consideration. 

“Perhaps,” said Mr. Hargrave finally, “the most tortur- 
ing element in my blindness is that 1 cannot mix among 
people to know them for myself, and yet in tete-d-tetes^ 
such as you and I have, I find my powers of discrimina- 
tion even keener than of old. Another thing, people 
are readier to say to me, for some curious reason, blind 
as I am, what perhaps they would not if I had all my 
faculties.” 

“I can understand that,” said Ruth. “One dare*s to say 
one’s inner thought if you do not meet the direct glance of 
the person you are talking to. So you have a magical 
advantage over us.’’ She laughed again. “I should hardly 
dare not to answer you with absolute truthfulness w^ere you 
to question me upon any subject, I believe. It may seem 
like an odd fancy, but I am quite sure, Mr. Hargrave, I 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAT, 


115 


would never Lave ventured to talk so freely Lad I felt 
you were looking at me all tLe time.” 

“TLis is decidedly encouraging,” Le declared. ‘‘At 
tliis rate,” Le went on presentlj^ “I sLall Lesitate about 
letting my medical friends experiment upon me. But you 
see it is 1 wLo am at an absolute disadvantage, for I must 
converse, straining every nerve to catcL tLe full meaning, 
even tLe intonation of my companion’s voice. It may be 
that it sharpens my perceptions in one way, keeping tbem 
so wide awake, but I assure you that I would far rather 
listen to you with the use of my two eyes than with this 
silk bandage over them.” 

“Ah, let us Lope,” exclaimed Ruth, “that the doctors’ 
experiment, as you call it, will not be in vain. Do you 
know when they are to Lave the consultation?” she added. 

“Yes,” he returned slowly, “it will be while you are all 
away at Martindale.” 

He wishes, then, thought the girl, a perfect sense of 
seclusion in the house. She could quite understand it, 
only it seemed wrong to take Robert Hargrave away at 
such a time, and she ventured to suggest this. 

“No, no,” he returned hastily; “I do not even mean to 
have Mrs. Selby here. I have my faithful Gregson, who 
has been my right hand on more occasions than one, and — 
well — I prefer it so.” 

There was a pause, after which Mr. Hargrave, resuming 
his vigorous tone and manner, dictated another letter, this 
time to an architect who was evidently making some plans 
for him. And with this Ruth’s occupation for the morn- 
ing came to an end. Mrs. Selby appeared; announced 
that luncheon would be ready in a few moments, and Mr. 
Hargrave enquired whether little Margaret expected to 
go back with Miss Endicott directly afterward. It was 


116 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


settled that tliis should be so, and accordingly Ruth bade 
her employer good-by for the day, adding, on leaving the 
room, that she supposed he would give his cousin full 
instruction as to the morrow’s journey, unless there was 
anything else he had to say to her. 

“You know what I wish,” answered Mr. Hargrave 
quickly; “if not too much trouble, will you call here to- 
morrow in the morning, at whatever time Robert appoints? 
and if anything should have arisen to my mind I can tell 
you then.” 

Needless to say, Margaret was in a state of ecstatic 
delight and could hardly be induced to eat any luncheon, 
so eager was she to be away at once, and she had to be 
sent back to her room twice before her toilet was complete. 

At last all was satisfactorily settled and Ruth, with the 
child’s hand in hers, started homeward again, happy as 
she felt in her little companion’s evident enjoyment of the 
expedition, not without deeper thoughts, strongly sym- 
pathetic and even exhilarating from the conversation she 
had held with Mr. Hargrave that morning. An electric 
spark of sympathy^ or was it magnetism, the girl felt had 
been touched, revealing something of peculiar kinship in 
their natures, and with this came the recollection that on 
the morrow he would be going through an anxious, if not 
actually painful ordeal. What a moment, thought the 
girl, to be left so entirely alone. And yet she could 
understand that a nature strongly self-reliant and averse 
to anything excitable, such as evidently was his, would 
prefer to face a question of the kind in heroic solitude. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Margaret’s tongue flew on the way down in genuine 
magpie fashion. Ruth listened to a jumble of so many 
things that it was hard to piece the story which Margaret 
had to tell together, but there was a general impression 
on her mind, that the girl had only lately been made aware 
of Mr. Hargrave’s existence or relationship to any of her 
family. 

“And I shouldn’t wonder,” said Margaret, looking up 
eagerly into Ruth’s face, “if there had been some kind of 
a quarrel — I don’t think it could be exactly over me, for I 
don’t think I am of enough consequence. Perhaps I can 
ask Cousin John some day soon,” she added. 

“Oh, I hardly think, dear,” said Ruth gently, “that I 
would do that. You see gentlemen don’t like to have 
their business affairs questioned into by anybody.” 

“All right, Ruth,” said Margaret promptly; “then if 
you say so, I won’t.” 

Right indeed, thought Ruth, had Mr. Hargrave been in 
saying that this child’s impressionable nature needed 
careful guidance, for had she suggested Margaret’s prying 
into any detail of her cousin’s business the child would as 
promptly have agreed to do it. 

“And are you really keeping house, Ruth?” said Mar- 
garet, quite as ready to discuss a new subject. 

“Yes, indeed,” answered Ruth, with a little pressure of 
her companion’s hand and smiling down into the bright, 

dark little face beside her, “or I had better say a very 

nr 


118 


RUTH ENDICOTT'8 WAY. 


dear old friend of mine keeps Louse for me, and she’s ex- 
pecting yon, and ready to make you very welcome.” 

‘‘And may 1 look at everything just as I used to do in 
your room at Enfield?” Margaret went on. 

“Every single little thing,” answered Ruth; “I am 
afraid it won’t take you long, but you can look into every 
drawer and on every shelf of the cupboard, and, better 
still, you can help us get tea ready.” 

“Oh, Ruth, Ruth!” exclaimed the young girl, “do let 
us hurry up; I can hardly wait to get there.” 

A few moments’ further walk brought them to their 
destination. Ruth opened the door with the latchkey Mrs. 
Renfrew had provided, and meeting the landlady on the 
next landing, explained that she was bringing a young 
cousin of Mr. Hargrave’s down to take tea with her, 
whereupon Mrs. Renfrew acknowledged the introduction 
most agreeabl 3 ^ 

Mrs. Chesley was evidently in excellent spirits when 
Ruth and their guest appeared, and, as soon as Margaret’s 
things were laid aside, Ruth left her to inspect her little 
room, telling her to come out in the parlor whenever she 
liked. 

“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Chesley, as soon as she saw 
Ruth seated comfortably in a chair near by, “you can’t 
think how long the day seemed without you. I was so 
glad that we had a clock, for I could keep looking at it 
when I got fldget 3 ^” 

“You must have worked very hard,” said Ruth, smiling 
approval at the exquisite orderliness of the room; “how 
nice it is to come home and find everything so fresh and 
tidy.” 

“My dear,” said Mrs. Chesley solemnl}^, “do jow know 
how I was taught to dust when I was a girl? When I 


RUTH ENDICOTT' 8 WAT. 


]19 


said a room was finislied, my mother went about with a 
small damp cloth in her hand, touching different articles 
here and there, and if a particle of dust was discovered on 
the cloth I had to begin all over again. And now it is a 
sort of second nature. That’s one of the things that made 
me wretched up at the Merritts.” 

“And it’s one of the things,” said Ruth, “that makes 
you such a comfort to me. Untidiness gives me the 
horrors. Now then. Cousin Jane,” she went on, “I hope 
you won’t find my little friend too talkative, but remem- 
ber she is intensely anxious to tell me all that has hap- 
pened, to look at everything and to hear about every- 
thing.” 

“And I can go out for our marketing,” said Mrs. 
Chesley, “while you and she compare your notes.” 

The old lady, thoroughly enjoying her duty, sallied 
forth within a few moments, whereupon Margaret began 
her tour of the rooms. She was turning over some books 
on Ruth’s table when she looked up suddenly to say: 

“Oh, Ruth, how could I have forgotten to tell you; 
there’s a book up at my cousin’s with your name in it!” 

“What do you mean, dear ?” exclaimed Ruth. “I have 
no book there.” 

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” said the child quickly, “but 
I’ll tell you how it was. I went down to explore the 
great big parlor, it seems, they never use. Just for some- 
thing to do, it was getting so pokey up there. Well, you 
know,” drawing a long breath, “there are lots and lots of 
beautiful things in it, pictures of people, ladies and gentle- 
men, and all sorts of things, and then on a table, at one 
end of the room, there were some books. One had such a 
funny, little light green cover that I picked it up, and it 
was a kind of album. Don’t you know the books the girls 


120 


RUTH ENDIC0TT8 WAT. 


were so cracked about last year at school, and how mad 
Eva Siebel was, when somebody wrote that funny German 
verse in hers. Well, it was a book like that, and there 
was a piece of poetry signed Philip Endicott.'^'* 

Ruth gave a little start. It was too old a family name 
for her to hear it lightly mentioned. Not only was it her 
father’s, but it had belonged for generations, like a birtli- 
right, to the Endicott family ; indeed, tradition said the 
first son was so named as an act of courtesy to King Philip, 
in the old days of Indian warfare. 

“Yes it was., Ruth,” persisted Margaret; it said yours 
something or otlm\ Philip Endicott. 

“I would like to see it,” said Ruth, in a strange voice. 
She wondered how she could contrive to mention the fact 
to Mr. Hargarve without putting little Margaret in an 
unpleasant position, and at last decided upon letting 
Margaret speak frankly for herself. 

“I will tell you what you can do, dear,” she said gently ; 
“as soon as we get the chance you can ask Mr. Hargrave, 
when I am there, whether you may show me the book and 
tell him the reason.” 

“Yes,” said Margaret, “that will be the nicest way, 
and that old Mrs. Selby can’t poke herself into it. Oh, 
she went on, “she does i\YQ me so! You’d think 
I didn’t know anything. She sent me out for a walk 
yesterday with one of the servants, and I think she must 
have told the girl beforehand just to say yes and no, for 
that’s all I could get out of her. When I asked her, 
‘Have you lived a longtime at my cousin’s ?’ she said, ‘Yes, 
miss.’ Then I said, ‘How old are you ?’ and she only said, 
‘ OA, miss,’ with such a funny laugh. So I said, ‘Don’t 
you know how old you are ?’ and she said ‘No, miss.’ Now, 
do you think that was a very pleasant walk, Ruth?” 


B UTH ENDIGO TT ^8 WA T. 


121 


Ruth liad to laugli in spite of herself. But she 
answered, suggesting that Margaret’s questions might 
have been a little less personal. 

‘‘You see, dear,” said Ruth, “people don’t always like 
to have their affairs talked about. Now, for instance, if 
you were to ask my friend Mrs. Chesley how old she was, 
or anything of that kind, she would think it very bad 
manners, and wonder what kind of a school you and I had 
been to, not to know better.” 

“But the girls up there alwa^'s were telling their ages,” 
said Margaret. “Don’t you remember it was always the 
first thing we asked a new girl, before she had time even 
to ask us.” 

“Niggie, Niggie,” exclaimed Ruth, “I’ll have to call 
you by your old name, for you can’t remember, it appears, 
we are not at school any longer.” 

“Oh, indeed I do,” declared Margaret, “and I’m only 
dreading being sent to study anywhere else. I should 
think reading and writing ought to be enough, for if you 
know how to read you can go through every book you 
want to, and if you can write you could always answer a 
letter.” 

How many more broad-minded views of the kind 
Margaret might have advanced it would be difficult 
to say, but at this moment the door opened upon Mrs. 
Chesley, who came in beaming from her little expe- 
dition, and in a few moments the table was cleared and 
the marketing displayed to Margaret’s great delight, 
and indeed to Ruth’s own satisfaction, for it was 
a source of infinite pleasure to her to entertain her 
little friend as well as to attend to their housekeeping 
details. 

“Oh, exclaimed Margaret, “strawberries and 


122 


RUTH ENDIGOTr 8 WAY, 


cream, and what’s that? cheese, and cake, and cold 
ham !” 

‘‘And jam,” said Ruth, displaying a jar with the Dun- 
dee label on it. “Now, Margaret, this is almost as good 
as one of our Saturday night spreads, isn’t it?” 

“And rolls and buns,” went on Margaret. 

“And now behold,” said Ruth, leading the way into 
the cupboard, “this end of the shelf is the kitchen, 
because it is there we do our cooking.” 

Margaret watched eagerly while the little stove was 
lighted, the agate kettle, filled with fresh clean Avater, put 
on to boil, Ruth flitting back and forth while she set out 
their table with the pretty china which Margaret pro- 
nounced “perfectly heautiful,^'^ And in twenty minutes 
the trio Avere sitting about the table, Mrs. Chesley pour- 
ing tea, Margaret haA^ing the strawberries to help to, 
and Ruth looking on, seeing that all their wants were 
attended to. 

It Avas evident as the meal drew near its close that there 
was one question Margaret had not yet put, and Avhich 
Avas almost burning on her lips. She glanced tOAvard the 
cupboard, back again to Ruth, and then said in a sort of 
stage Avhisper: 

“Who Avashes the dishes?” 

Ruth laughed gayly. 

“Just you Avait, my dear,” she answered, “and you’ll 
find out.” 

Accordingly, Avhen the cosey little supper was over, 
Mrs. Chesley, almost as much entertained as Ruth herself, 
replaced the kettle on the little stove, Avhile Ruth deftly 
cleared the table, and in a few moments there Avas the 
dish pan j) reduced from its nail in the cupboard, a clean 
check towel, a mop, and a box of soap poAvder, Avhile 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY. 


123 


Margaret looked on, wondering that everything could be 
done in such a dainty, easy fashion. 

‘■The next time 1 come,” she urged, “may I help you 
wash them? Oh, Ruth,” she added without waiting for 
an answer, “I wish I was going to stay forever. It is so 
much nicer here with you.” 

“You must come very often, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Chesley, “for I am sure you brighten us up, and make us 
feel as if we really had a home of our own, doesn’t she, 
Ruth?” 

“Decidedly. And perhaps, Margaret dear, I can con- 
trive to get you to myself for a few days some time.” 

The tea things had all been replaced and what Ruth 
called a “parlor look” given to the room again, and they 
were just debating w’hether to sit still in the summer dusk 
a little longer without the lamp, when a knock sounded at 
the door and Ruth opened it to admit Robert Hargrave. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Young Hargrave had accepted his cousin’s commission 
with alacrity, and found himself as he neared Ruth’s 
dwelling in an altogether peculiar frame of mind, for it 
annoyed him to take so much interest in a girl who was a 
complete stranger — especially when he had so often told 
liimself that for years to come ‘‘girls” must be out of his 
reckoning altogether. He had not the slightest idea of 
hampering even his alTections, to say nothing of forming 
any actual ties until his own position in the world was 
secure. He had come very near to breaking his resolutions 
more than once, but had glided away from the danger 
signals w’ith satisfactory success, so that, at present, among 
young men of his own acquaintance, he was regarded as a 
philosopher on the subject of the fair sex. Vague rumors 
had been circulated to the effect that Hargrave had been 
jilted or disappointed in some fashion, but if such were 
the case he certainly did not wear the willow with any out- 
ward token, and in every company he was voted delightful 
by ladies young and old, since his attentions were inde- 
pendent, it would seem, of age or even good looks. 

Something out of the common about Ruth had startled 
liim since he found himself unable to shake off the impres- 
sion she had created, and as he entered the home-like 
parlor, where Ruth was the central figure, her two com- 
panions onlj^ like excellent accessories, this intangible 
sensation again disconcerted him. But as in real life we 
must go through everyday formalities without the slight- 

124 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY, 


125 


est clemonstration of a quickening heartbeat or any other 
inward sensation, Mr. Hargrave shook hands cordially 
with Mrs. Chesley, said, “Hello! old girl, how are you get- 
ting on ?” to little Margaret, and took the easy chair 
offered him with as much ease and self-possession as 
though his coming in was an everyday matter and occa- 
sioned not the slightest ripple of extraordinary feeling. 

“What made you come so early?” demanded Margaret 
suddenly. Whereupon eveiyone laughed, and Ruth made 
haste to explain that she supposed Margaret took his com- 
ing as a signal for her departure. 

“But you are very much mistaken,” said Ruth, “for 
we intend to coax Mr. Hargrave to spend the evening.” 

“Oh, then I don’t care,” said Margaret frankly, and 
presently interested herself in turning over the leaves of a 
book, while Ruth enquired lightly: 

“Well, how do you like our attic quarters? You see 
Mrs. Chesle}^ and I are just new enough in it to want all 
our friends’ opinions.” 

Hargrave looked about critically, leaning back in his 
chair to gaze up even at Ruth’s bit of curtaining, then at 
the little stand of shelves on which the tea cups and one 
or two pretty dishes were artistically arranged. 

“It looks,” he said, “as though you were an artist of 
some sort, and there are all kinds you know, some who 
never touch a canvas, but expend all their artistic instinct 
on just such — well — touches as these.” 

“I believe you are right,” said Ruth quickly; “the 
artistic sense can go into everything. It is about all that 
has ever made my music worth anything.” 

“I wonder what you will think,” the young man said, 
with an expression of intense amusement, and drav/ ing his 
chair near Ruth’s, while Mrs. Chesley and Margaret had 


126 


BUm ENDIGOTT^S WAT. 


begun an animated conversation on their own account, 
“of the place we are to go to to-morrow. It so happens that 
I have been there on business and I have met one or two 
members of the family elsewhere. I will say nothing, 
except that I hope you will not let anything surprise 
you, for it is a household as full of — well, the unexpected 
let us say, as you can well imagine. But my cousin John 
is right, as he generally is on most subjects, in letting 
the child become acquainted with her own relations.” 

“I quite agree with you,” said Ruth. “Everyone of us 
feels the need of some family ties, and little Margaret, 
above all others, would be benefited by associations of the 
kind.” 

“That is,” said Robert, with a shrewd uplifting of his 
brows, “if they are the right sort. These Martindale 
people I fancy are rather an odd set. It is hard to prophesy 
what the result of her making their acquaintance will be. 
However, there is no harm in making the experiment and 
my cousin will be satisfied that he has done the best thing. 
By the way,” he added, “you remember he has some final 
instructions, as he calls them, or perhaps suggestions to 
give, and as we ought to take the eleven o’clock train for 
Martindale, can you be at the house by nine prepared to 
start, and if necessary, stay over night with this branch 
of the Powers family ?” 

“Certainly,” said Ruth, “I am pledged to do Mr. Har- 
garve’s bidding in this matter, and I own,” she added, 
“it has a spice of adventure about it that I quite 
like.” 

“Don’t be too romantic,” laughed the young man, 
“for I am afraid you’ll find things rather commonplace, 
or, at least, nothing about them which will appeal to the 
picturesque.” 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


127 


“Never mind,” retorted Ruth, “we must only look for 
the best, or at least try to make the best out of the 
worst.” 

Margaret evidently thought by this time that she had 
been left long enough out of the conversation, and push- 
ing her book aside, came over to stand beside Ruth in an 
attitude half of defiance, half of protecting fondness, trans- 
fixing Robert Hargrave with her big dark eyes as though 
to inform him that he had absorbed enough of their 
hostess’ attention. 

The young man regarded her with a cool smile for an 
instant, and then observed quietly: 

“Well, what now, young lady, you look as though you 
were thinking of something very warlike.” 

“I want to talk to Ruth,” answered Margaret calmly; 
“you’ve had her long enough.” 

“I don’t know about that,” answered her cousin with a 
light laugh, and resting his arm over the back of his chair 
he allowed his gaze to fix itself rather more intently than 
usual upon Ruth Endicott’s half averted face. She was 
looking up at her little her arm having encircled 
the child’s waist, and he fancied there was something 
peculiarly wistful in the delicate outline of the brow, eyes, 
and perfectly moulded lips. It might only have been the 
shadows from the dark paneling and half lights against 
wliich her face and figure were outlined, but the young 
girl certainly looked weary or anxious; what was it, Har- 
grave asked himself, with a sudden tightening of the 
muscles in his own face, as he wondered if she was doing 
harder battle than appeared in her daily life? But there 
was no chance for further speculation on this subject. 

“What are you looking at?” demanded Margaret, with 
a little stamp of her foot. “Cousin Robert, you look 


128 


RUTH ENBIGOTrS WAY. 


like one of the pictures up at the house. It is a tall young 
man with a riding-whip in his hand.” 

“Ah,” exclaimed young Hargrave, his expression relax- 
ing, “that is the portrait of one worthy James Hargrave, 
who was supposed to be a fighting character, in a refined 
fashion, all his life. It is said of him,” he added, turning 
to Ruth, “that he preferred to fight his way to the gaining 
of his point rather than achieving it with no difficulties. 
And yet, in his home life, he is reported to have been 
singularly amiable.” 

“Probably,” said Ruth, “because they all allowed him 
to have his own way. It is hardly likely that his wife 
and children, if he had any, cared about being knocked 
down every other minute.” 

Young Hargrave leaned back and laughed aloud. 

“You must tell that to my cousin, your chief,” he 
observed; “he prides himself upon being thoroughly up 
in all the family traits, and it will amuse him greatly 
if he finds that you have hit upon a characteristic of that 
special scion of the race. I don’t think we are a peculiarly 
aggressive family,” he went on, “although there is a 
strong spirit — of — well, what I may call fight, in us if 
occasion requires it. I never heard of a Hargrave giving 
up what he felt he had a right to, without a pitched 
battle if it had to be.” 

“And then, would he shake hands with his antagonist?” 
enquired Ruth, both interested and amused. 

‘‘Noblesse oblige^ said the young man, and Ruth, with 
a half sigh, exclaimed: 

“What a pity that wonderful motto, a code, one might 
say, in two words is not better understood.” 

“VYhat are you talking about?” demanded Margaret, 
“that sounds like French.” 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


129 


“Well, it has a leaning that way,” said the young man, 
fixing his eyes intently upon the little girl; “let’s see 
whether your education at Miss Daintrey’s has been 
thorough enough, my child, for you to translate it.” 

“Say it again,” said Margaret. 

“1 said,” he answered slowly, ‘^Noblesse cblige.'*^ 

Margaret hesitated, repeating the words half under her 
breath, and Ruth came to her rescue. 

“It is worth while, Margaret dear,” she said, “for you 
to understand it and remember it all your life. Nobility 
obliges,^ which means, does it not,” wdth a glance at Mr. 
Hargrave, “that if we are noble in thought or feeling, or 
even by birthright, we are obliged to conduct ourselves 
nobly in every way.” 

repeated Margaret, drawing her brows 
together, “you don’t mean 

“Proud in one sense, but onl}^ what shall we say, Mr. 
Hargrave? the pride of doing what is right and true and 
honorable.” 

“I guess I know,” said Margaret slowly, “never to do 
a mean thing; not to be a sneak.” 

They all laughed, but Robert said quickly: 

“Margaret, my child, you have condensed it in a few 
words, only w^e might give it a fuller definition. A per- 
fectly generous, noble nature certainly could not sneak, as 
you call it, about anything.” 

“Ruth never sneaked,” said Margaret, with another 
glance of defiance and placing her arm quickly about her 
beloved friend’s neck. 

Ruth had to laugh in spite of her feeling, thankful for 
the child’s intense loyalty. 

“Indeed, she wouldn’t ever,” pursued Margaret, as 
though someone had attempted to contradict her. “Oh, 


130 


RUTH ENDIGOTT’S WAT, 


you may smile away, Mr. Hargrave, all you like, but I can 
tell you at school everybody knew what Ruth Endicott 
was.” 

‘^At this rate,” said Ruth, blushing furiously, ‘H ought 
to die, since there’s nothing left apparently but to write 
my epitaph.” 

‘‘And leave Margaret to compose your biography,” sug- 
gested Mr. Hargrave. “Would it not be in touching 
hands?” 

“Oh, I know what you are like,” exclaimed Margaret, 
with an ominous flash of her dark eyes; “you’re the kind 
that just makes fun of everything. You’re like a girl we 
had at school. She’d laugh at anything.” 

“Indeed, my dear,” said Robert quickly, “you are so 
far mistaken that I’m thankful to you for bringing up the 
ghost of a laugh in me to-night, 1 was only half inclined 
to come at all, the blues had so possessed me this afternoon. 
But I think now we had better conclude our arrangements 
for the morrow. Miss Endicott,” he went on, “as I have 
to take this young damsel home again.” 

Margaret turned away, and Mrs. Chesley, who had 
been laboriously counting threads in her stitching and 
matching bits of lace together, was quite willing to explain 
to the active-minded little girl what she was doing, while 
Ruth and Robert Hargrave arranged that she should call 
at nine o’clock punctually at his cousin’s, and he, mean- 
while, could make all necessary arrangements for the 
journey. “It’s a ride of an hour and a half,” said he, 
rising to leave, “and I think from the station it may be a 
matter of two miles up to the house. However, there are 
plenty of vehicles to be found about, and of course I will 
telegraph in advance of our coining.” 

“Now then, Margaret,” he added, “delightful as it is 


Burn ENDIGOirS WAY. 


131 


here, I am afraid yon must make ready to come home with 
me. You know Mrs. Selby will he w^aiting up anxious 
for you.” 

“Oh, Ruth! ” pleaded the child, ‘^must I go?” 

“Nonsense, Margaret,” said Ruth, “it is only a ques- 
tion of a few hours, and just think, we are to have per- 
haps two days in the country together.” Upon this 
encouragement Margaret allow^ed herself to be dressed for 
the journey home, impressing upon Ruth all the time that 
she must be at Mr. Hargrave’s house as early as possible. 

“I’ve had a perfectly lovely time,” said the little girl on 
leaving, “and I only wish I could stay 

“Good-night,” said young Hargrave, holding out his 
hand, first to Mrs. Chesley and then to the young mistress 
of the little home. “I feel like echoing Margaret’s words 
— must I go?” 

“We need only say au revolr,^^ said Ruth, smiling. 

She stood upon the landing with a candle in her hand, 
watching her guests until they were out of sight, and 
then came back to Mrs. Chesley exclaiming: 

“Wb^^, Cousin Jane, don’t you feel as though we had 
really begun a home of our own together! Why it’s 
almost been like a party.” 

“My dear,” said Mrs. Chesley gravely, “it’s far better 
than that; it’s the beginning of a new life to me. 1 was 
watching and listening and thinking, and the best thought 
of all w\as, how far away the noise and disturbance of the 
Merritt family seemed.” 

“Poor things!” said Ruth, “but after all I don’t sup- 
pose they realize what they miss. Very soon we must 
invite some of them down to see us. And now, to quote 
Lady Macbeth ‘ to bed, to bed, to bed ! ’ ” 

It was with a feeling of sweetest tranquility and security 


132 


BUTH ENDIGOrrS WAY. 


that Mrs. Chesley found herself in the small cot near 
Ruth’s. In the semi-darkness — the only light being that 
of the young moon seen through their open window, the 
friends talked together for a little while, Ruth planning 
how Mrs. Chesley should amuse herself during her absence 
the next day, and assuring her that, even if she was obliged 
to stay overnight at Martindale, she would only have the 
more to tell her about the trip, on her return. 

“There will be time enough,” said Ruth, “after our 
breakfast, to see that you are comfortable for the day, and, 
you know, in any emergency, there will be Mrs. Renfrew 
to call upon.” 

“Don’t mind me, my dear,” said Mrs. Chesley; “let me 
tell you, Ruth, I feel sure this is the time I’ve been waiting 
for — the time I’ve prayed for so long. I always knew 
that the Lord would open up a way out of my difficulties. 
Lying here on this little bed in the first home, as I may 
call it, I have known for years, it seems to me it is 
worth all the suffering I have gone through just to have 
found it.” 

“And we’ll Jceep it. Cousin Jane,” answered Ruth. 
“You are as much of a help to me — as strong a power in 
my life as I can ever be in yours.” 


CHAPTER XVIIL 


Ruth found herself unable to sleep for some time after 
her companion was in peaceful slumber. There was so 
much for her to think about, and while she wondered w’ith 
a natural girlish curiosity as to the result of her visit the 
next day to Martindale, she could not keep her thoughts 
from dwelling upon her employer — wondering how the 
operation would result. She had heard that, were it to 
prove unsuccessful, there could be no hope for another 
trial, and it would mean, once and for all, renouncing his 
eyesight and taking up the burden over again of a depend- 
ent life. She determined to do everything in her power 
to render the days of enforced darkness more cheerful for 
him, and with this end in view decided also that she 
would try to make little Mai*garet prove herself a woman, 
and fit to cheer and console her guardian. 

Sleep came at last and Ruth was hardly conscious 
whether she dreamed or not, but awoke to find herself with 
the morning sunlight streaming in upon her and a con- 
sciousness of the day’s importance to make her spring to 
her feet and prepare for a start at once. 

Mrs. Chesley was sufficiently amused and interested by 
the fact of Ruth’s journey to accept the idea of a lonely 
day quite contentedly, and, as early as possible, the young 
girl started off to keep her appointment at Mr. Har- 
grave’s house. 

Gregson received her with the most impressive manner, 
133 


134 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT, 


and desired her to come, by his master’s wishes, at once to 
the library. 

In a moment the door of the small inner room opened 
and Mr. Hargrave came in leaning on Gregson’s arm and 
evidently forcing himself to great self-control. 

‘‘Robert will attend to everything for you, my dear,” 
said the master of the house, “so far as the business part 
of the journey is concerned, and, as you know’, I want 
you to observe everything critically. Mere peculiarity 
I do not object to so much, since my idea is that few 
human beings are without some personal peculiarity, or I 
might better say eccentricity. But that is quite different, 
is it not, from being erratic, and I would not like Margaret, 
as I told you, to go into a household where she w’ould learn, 
by example, habits of carelessness if not improvidence. 
You see she will have to be allowed a very free use of her 
own money, and were these people to exercise any degree 
of control over her actions through her affections, the result 
might be that by the time she was twenty -five, she would 
be stranded and penniless in the world.” 

“I am quite sure,” exclaimed Ruth, “that I understand 
your idea, Mr. Hargrave, entirely, and believe me, I will 
use all the judgment I can command and we can only hope 
for the best result. 1 need scarcely tell 3^011,” she added, 
“that my deepest thoughts Avill be with you, but I am glad 
to know you are at least feeling courageous.” 

He echoed the word with a wistful smile. 

“Courageous? The courage of despair he answered in 
a low voice. “Still, there is nothing left but to face the 
consultation and bear with its results.” 

A quick step sounded in the hall and in a moment 
young Hargrave made his appearance. The business 
details of the journey Avere briefly discussed. Ruth made 


RUTH ENDICOTT^ 8 WAY. 


135 


her good-by as cheerfully as possible, held her employer’s 
hand firmly in both her own for an instant and was glad 
when she and young Hargrave were once more on their 
way back to Mrs. Renfrew’s. 

Very little was said until the trio found themselves on 
the train for Martindale. Robert had secured the most 
comfortable places in the parlor car, and soon after the 
first mile was passed, contrived that Margaret should 
occupy herself with a couple of illustrated papers while 
he and Ruth had a brief consultation. 

“The chances are,” he observed, “that we will not find 
2LUJ of the family waiting at the station for us, and it may 
be, that after all their preparation for our coming, we will 
find them in a state of confusion. However, they must 
have received my cousin’s and my letters, and it will be 
their own fault if we are not welcome. The family con- 
sists of Mr. and Mrs. Powers, two daughters, and a son, 
who, by the way, is considered a miracle of cleverness. I 
believe he sits on a dictionary even during his meals, and 
is supposed to be a very remarkable classical scholar, but, 
for my own part, I never saw any particular evidence of 
natural intelligence. It is easy enough to read books all 
day and night if you like.” 

“Exactly,” said Ruth; “I used to see that kind of thing 
at Miss Daintrey’s school. There were girls there who 
could absorb any amount of printed matter, so to speak, 
but who apparently never had an idea of their own, or, at 
least, never originated anything. I have alwa3"s thought 
that the most stultifying sort of brain culture.” 

“Well, this young scion of the race of Powers may be 
roused up to some active energy some day, but it is 
entirel}^ a question of the future.” 

“What is the mother of the family like?” asked Ruth. 


136 


BUTE EJsrnicoTrs way. 


The young man laughed. “Just what one might 
expect,” he answered; “the most easy-going, good-natured 
creature in existence, but without the slightest idea of 
discipline of any sort. They are a family who live on 
theories, and I believe they have tried all kinds of isms 
and every known fad in the way of diet and so on. This, 
however, you must remember,” he went on, “is only the 
result of a casual acquaintance on my part, and I may 
be misjudging them, or, on the other hand, it may be that 
their peculiarities are all surface ones. However, two 
heads will be better than one, and my cousin will have 
the benefit of a woman’s point of view in the matter.” 

The station was a quiet, cheerfully rustic one, at a con- 
siderable distance, it would appear, from the village itself, 
and as our party emerged on to the platform they looked 
up and down vainly for a conveyance, and young Har- 
grave was about going off to hunt up something in the 
way of a vehicle, when down a turn in the road came, 
with the liveliest kind of a rattle, a Rockaway drawn by a 
tall, lean horse, whose driver was urging him wildly to 
further speed. The window curtains were flying and the 
ramshackle affair swayed from side to side as it came 
along, while it was clearly evident, in the next few mo- 
ments, that they were the object of its coming. 

With a loud, cheerful “ W/ioa the young man who 
was driving the wagon tied his reins carelessly at one side 
and sprang to the ground. 

“I guess you’re the people I’m looking for,” he said 
good-humoredly. “Mr. Powers asked me if I wouldn’t 
drive over for some friends of his, as there wasn’t any- 
body at home for him just then to send. I’m right, aint 
I?” he continued, nodding and smiling first at one and 
then at the other. 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


137 


‘‘Why, yes, sir,” answered Robert, “we’ve come np to 
make a call, or I had better say spend a few hours with 
Mr. Powers.” 

“Then jump in,” said the lively young Jehu, “I’ll land 
you there in less than twenty minutes.” 

It was evident that haste was the main thing on the 
young man’s mind, and Ruth was almost certain, two or 
three times, that she would be sent head first on to the 
roadway, but at last the horse’s head Avas turned toAvard 
an open gate which led into a short drive, which, had it 
been kept in order, would have been really picturesque. 
The trees lining it Avere tall and stately, nearly arching 
overhead, while a long, badly kept but beautifully green 
lawn swept both to right and left. The house itself was a 
rambling frame dwelling, with a covered porch on three 
sides, a short flight of steps, and a Avidely-opened doorway, 
in Avhich, as they drew up, two or three people came 
quickly into view. 

There Avas no difficulty in recognizing the master of the 
house in the tall, shambling figure Avho first appeared. His 
face, more or less refined, and with a certain stamp of 
intellectuality about it, might have been attractive but 
for the decided weakness in some of its lines. A tall girl 
of about sixteen, holding a plate in one hand and a cloth in 
the other, Avas at his side, Avhile two younger members of 
the family completed the group. 

“Well, Avell,” said Mr. Powers, shaking hands with the 
visitors, young Hargrave having gone through the neces- 
sary introductions; “I declare I’m thankful my young 
friend found you. Both our own horses are away for the 
day — in fact, I loaned them for a picnic party.” The Rock- 
away was dismissed, Avhile Ruth and Margaret followed 
young Hargrave’s lead into the house, the tallest of the 


138 


RUTH ENDIGOTrS WAY. 


girls opening the door of the parlor, murmuring, as sliedid 
so, a half apology for its untidiness. 

“Ma ’ll be here in a minute,” she said, dusting off a 
chair with her apron, and pushing it toward Ruth. ‘‘We 
started to clean house thoroughly this morning, and the 
result is, everything’s completely out of order.” 

It was obviously impossible for the guests not to accept 
the young girl’s opinion on this subject, for a more hope- 
less condition of confusion Ruth thought she had never 
seen, and when Miss Powers left them to hasten her 
mother’s coming, Ruth and her escort exchanged a quizzical 
look and he murmured: “This is only the beginning. 
You must not be surprised at anything.” 

Mrs. Powers’ entrance was preceded by the most peculiar 
sounds, as though something either had fallen down the 
stairs with her or was thrown after her, and she came into 
the parlor turning to pin up a rent in her morning wrapper, 
exclaiming: “You must excuse me, but the stairs are so 
out of order. I tear my dress every time I go up or down.” 
With which she held out a large, limp hand first to one 
and then another, smiling in a vague, absent-minded man- 
ner as she did so. 

She had certainly been a very pretty woman in her day, 
and might now be good-looking if she bestowed even 
ordinary care upon her toilet. She was inclined to be 
stout, with blond hair, blue eyes, and was rosj^-cheeked as 
a girl, while it was quite evident that the cares of life had 
never rested heavily upon her. Scarcely a wrinkle marred 
the smoothness of her brow or cheek, and it was impossible, 
at first sight, to believe that she was the mother of so large 
a family. 

“Well, now,” said Mrs. Powers briskl}^ “I am sure I 
am very glad to see you all, and just in a moment I’ll take 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT, 


139 


the young ladies upstairs. Luella’s just straightening 
things up a little. I can’t begin to tell you how glad I ara 
to see little Margaret — and this young lady — Miss Endi- 
cott — is a sort of relation too, is she?” 

“Oh, no,” said Ruth quickly, “I was a schoolmate of 
Margaret’s, and since I left Miss Daintrey’s I have been 
acting as a sort of secretary to Mr. Hargrave. lie 
thought the little girl would like to have me come with 
her.” 

“Very kind indeed,” murmured Mrs. Powers. She 
remained silent for an instant and then sprang up as if an 
entirely new idea had suddenly occurred to her. 

“Well, we won’t wait for Luella any longer,” she 
exclaimed, “I guess I’ll take you young ladies right up to 
your room, and Mr. Hargrave won’t mind being left a little 
while, I’m sure.” 

Ruth took very good care to walk cautiously up the 
staircase, down which their hostess had almost seemed to 
tumble. Margaret held her hand tightly as they were 
ushered into a large front room, where evidences of the 
most rapid kind of “setting to rights,” were to be 
seen. 

The visitors laid aside their wraps, Luella seizing 
Ruth’s jacket just as she was about to put it on the sofa 
and saying: “I guess you’ll find this chair cleaner — I 
didn’t finish dusting the sofa” — threw it across the back 
of an old-fashioned arm-chair. 

Our heroine was glad to be alone for a moment with 
Margaret after this, Luella having darted off on some 
further household errand, since she realized, from the 
child’s expression, that a word of w^arning would not be 
out of place. 

“You must not look so shocked, Margaret, dear,” she 


140 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY, 


made baste to say; ‘^remember we are visitors, and it is 
very rude to criticise anything while you are visiting.” 

‘‘But, Ruth,” exclaimed Margaret, in her most dramatic 
tone, “did you ever see such a looking place? Why it 
would give Mrs. Selby fits! 1 wonder what my cousin 
John would say to it. And they are ray relations too!” 
she added dolefully. 

“Yes, indeed; and you must try to make the best of 
them,” declared Ruth. “They may be very kind-hearted 
and good to you for all you know. Everyone doesn’t 
understand housekeeping.” 

“And we are going to stay all night,” said Margaret, 
wretchedly depressed. “1 can’t say I relish the notion. 
That bed looks as if it would fall down any minute.” 

Luella reappeared now and conducted her guests down 
to the dining-room, where the rest of the family soon made 
their appearance, and a meal of so curious a character was 
set forth that it was difficult to characterize it. A variety 
of hot and cold dishes were on the table, some evidently 
warmed over, others hastily prepared. Mrs. f’owers pre- 
siding over a hissing tea urn, her husband had three bottles 
of ale near his plate which he proceeded to open and hand 
about, and Ruth could not help being reminded of the 
JVIerritt household by the exceedingly informal method of 
serving the repast. Half a dozen times some one of the 
famil}^ had to make a flight into the lower regions for 
something missing or needed. Mr. Powers was evidently 
interested in Ruth, especially after he found out that she 
was a New England Endicott. 

“I shouldn’t be at all surprised,” he said oracularlj^ “if 
I knew your father’s people. Some of them were from 
Salem, were they not? Yes, I thought so. If I’m not 
very much mistaken you have a cousin down there named 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


141 


Peter Endicott — quite a rich old bachelor. But our friend 
Hargrave ought to be able to tell you more about that — or 
the lawyer Pearson. There’s not much he doesn’t know 
connected with the friends or relations of his clients.” 

“I know almost nothing of my father’s family,” said 
Ruth, keenly interested at once, “as for some years I was 
so little with him, and yet I can’t tell why, but I am most 
anxious to find out all I can about any of them.” 

“Just so,” said Mr. Powers, nodding his head, “on 
the same principle that people without a home of their own 
are always so eager to have one. I declare,” he went on, 
“I mean to do a little family searching up for my- 
self. My oldest son here,” with a glance in the direc- 
tion of that young hopeful, “has a wonderful head for 
everything of the kind. Clinton, you and Miss Endicott 
must get better acquainted,” he went on. 

Clinton only smiled and looked down rather sheepishly, 
whereupon his mother remarked : “You needn’t look so 
’shamed, Clinty; Miss Endicott won’t hurt you!” 

“Oh, I guess I aint ashamed^'^'* said the learned Clinton. 
“Say, hand that cake this way, won’t you?” he con- 
tinued, his attention being speedily absorbed by a large 
piece of indigestible-looking homemade cake. 

It was a relief when the disjointed sort of meal was 
over. Young Hargrave and the master of the house 
adjourned to a small room which Mr. Powers called his 
study, while in a few moments Ruth saw her way to tak- 
ing little Margaret upstairs for a rest. 

It w^as utterl}^ impossible for her to decide anything 
definite beyond a general impression that the child could 
never be happy in such a household. Singular to say, 
something about it all seemed to have captivated Marga- 
ret’s fancy, for as soon as they were alone, she declared 


142 


BUTE ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


her intention of making her new relations quite a visit, as 
soon as possible. 

“I’m sure Cousin John won’t mind,” she said confi- 
dently, “unless you set him against it, Ruth. I can just 
imagine that they’d let me have a lovely time here and do 
just as I like.” 

“Try not to make any plans, dear,” said Ruth, “until 
we go back again. How do we know,” she added, “what 
we will have to expect on our return. Think, the doctors 
are even now, no doubt, holding their consultation, and 
our first thought ought to be what is to be the result, and 
we must bear in mind that nothing must be done or said 
to worry your cousin.” ^ 

“1 know,” said Margaret, “and that’s just why he 
ought to be glad to have me out of the wa 3 \” 

The girls were really tired enough to enjoy an hour’s 
rest. Ruth slept heavily, wearied from her vigil of the 
night before, but her dreams were a confusion of people 
and places, in which she seemed strongly conscious of a 
pair of dark eyes fastened with intentness upon her own, 
while she could bear Mr. Hargrave saying: 

1 see you.^ I can really see you for myself.'''^ 

But in the same instant voice and face were altered, 
merged in dream fashion, into the brighter, younger looks 
and cheerful tones belonging to Robert, and she awoke 
with a disagreeable consciousness of having missed some- 
thing, if not in her dream, in the reality which she was 
confronting. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Ruth’s hostess and her family spent an afternoon, or I 
had better say, the hours from two to four o’clock, of 
unwonted excitement. Mrs. Powers delighted in what 
she called events — anything to rouse her really theatrical 
tendency. The possibility of some aAvful calamity was 
more or less enjoyable to her, her nature being one of those 
which ’viewed commonplace details in life as only fit for 
narrow minds. Once, some years previous, a very dis- 
astrous railroad accident had taken place at a junction two 
miles below, and Mrs. Powers had appeared on the scene like 
a somewhat frenzied ministering angel, really doing con- 
siderable good in her own way, but within herself regard- 
ing the calamity much as she might have done some strong 
calcium light effect upon the stage. The few hours of 
nervous prostration which followed only seemed in her 
mind to place the final seal of triumph upon her heroic 
action, and yet she disdained or, perhaps, I should better 
say, despised household details which might have insured 
the daily comfort and well-being of her family, and 
developed any natural abilit}’’ they evinced in a way 
which would make them put it later to a practical use. 
The condition of things was, it may well be imagined, 
hopelessly confused; Avorse still, it encouraged au}^ idle 
vagaries the young people might possess and made what 
we may call home life, in its best sense, impossible. A 
new study, for instance, w^as taken up enthusiastically for 
a few weeks, a smattering of the branch being acquired, 


144 


RUTH ENDIGOrrS WAY, 


after ^hich it would be flung aside for the next craze, 
while even in the minor domestic details the same impru- 
dence prevailed. New recipes in cooking would be hailed 
with delight, and materials which would have formed a 
good meal be spoiled in the efforts to carry out the new 
directions. A dressmaking frenzy occasionally ruled 
supreme, but it was seldom that any garment was really 
well-made or completely finished. The family literature 
consisted either of some deep branch of study, newly dis- 
covered by them, or the newest, most sensational novel, 
which would be read aloud at intervals, two or more mem- 
bers of the family gathering to hear it, the others later 
complaining bitterly that they had been left out and either 
insisting upon the recital of what had happened in the 
book, or else secluding themselves to keep up with the 
story by a private reading on their own account. 

The final result, the outcome of such a family, I think I 
will leave my reader to discuss within himself. In our 
country no young person, however richly endowed by 
family wealth, can be sure that he or she will notone day 
be compelled to prove self-supporting. A most painful 
sense of confusion seemed to exist in the Martindale house- 
hold, to any one looking on who could speculate as to 
what their future was likely to be. 

Quite a conclave was held in the parlor while Ruth 
and her little charge were supposed to be resting. Mr. 
Powers walked up and down slowly, his hands under his 
dressing gown, while the family sat about regarding him 
much as though he were one of the old Athenian sages 
discoursing wisdom, teaching his disciples orally. 

“It is high time,” he was saying in deliberate accents, 
“that we looked into our family history, our connections, 
our interests, and, I might say, my dear children, what 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY. 


145 


really lies ahead of us. This young girl,” he raised his 
eyes to the ceiling, above which little Margaret was sup- 
posed to be sleeping peacefully, “is, we find, a near and 
dear connection, and it behooves me to take a journey to 
New York, if necessary, and find out all details connected 
with her — shall I say lineage and fortune. Her guardian 
has done perfectly right in sending her even for this short 
visit. I shall thank him in person.” 

Mr. Powers stopped, evidently considering the last sen- 
tence a masterly conclusion. He repeated it, gazing about 
with an expression of mingled sweetness and triumph. “I 
shall thank him in person.” 

Fortunately Robert Hargrave was not present during 
this address of Mr. Powers to his family. He had been 
taken off to inspect the stables by Clinty, the embryo 
statesman, historian, or whatever might be in view for a 
youth so devoted to study that he could not leave his dic- 
tionary aside even at meal times. Clinty, it may be 
observed, proved an excellent judge of horseflesh, as his con- 
versation with young Hargrave demonstrated before they 
had been ten minutes in the large, forlorn-looking building, 
built to accommodate a dozen horses, now falling into decay 
and occupied at one end by two cows, the last of what Mr. 
Powers referred to as his “stock farm.” Clinty, it would 
appear, had his eye on certain races, which were to come off 
at a place ten miles distant known as “The Neck,” and he 
was exceedingly anxious for “tips” from anyone whom 
he thought could give them. Young Hargrave listened — 
showing sufficient interest in the subject not to be disagree- 
able as a listener — and mentally rated his companion for 
precisely what he was worth. 

There were certainly elements enough in the household 
characteristics, ungoverned ideas, impulses, and tendencies, 


140 


BUTE ENDICOirS WAY, 


sufficient to make or mar the well-being of fifty indi- 
viduals, and was this — could this be the place into which a 
girl of Margaret Powers’ high strung, ardent, and impul- 
sive temperament should be thrown? No, decided Robert 
bravely within himself, a thousand times no — better even 
that she should have to be coerced, if necessary, into be- 
having herself at Mr. Hargrave’s house during the critical 
time of his suffering and, no doubt, seclusion. It was 
with a feeling of infinite relief that the young man remem- 
bered they had a character and a friend, such as was Ruth 
Endicott, to fall back upon. He decided that he would 
not have the slightest hesitation in leaving the child 
definitely under her care, and directly, after the next few 
days were over, he could develop a plan, he fancied, where- 
by Ruth should take her place in Mr. Hargrave’s house- 
hold, if not as governess, as a sort of chaperon, of the little 
girl, who could spend some hours of each day in Ruth’s 
little apartment. He calculated upon her complete acquies- 
cence in his views, because he was quite certain that he 
understood her, and if he could secure a half hour’s talk 
with the young girl, before leaving, it would so far settle 
matters that he could lay his plan satisfactorily before 
Mr. Hargrave. 

“I must catch my train,” he said suddenly; ‘‘you know 
I have to be back in New York, although Miss Endicott 
and the little girl will remain overnight. I have a few 
business matters to discuss with her, Clinton,” he went 
on, “and I would take it as a favor, old fellow, if you could 
contrive that I should see her alone as soon as possible.” 


CHAPTER XX. 


In all the experiences of his varied, and at times anx- 
ious, career, Mr. Hargrave had never known what it was 
to face an ordeal such as lay before him, and as, according 
to his own request, he had been left entirely alone for half 
an hour before the doctors made their appearance, he re- 
viewed the situation, asking himself wlience came the 
actual secret of his despondency, the answer was one which 
made him groan inwardly. Since, why should it be that 
the thought of Ruth Endicott, what the result of his 
recovery or the reverse would be upon her mind, was really 
what absorbed him, and he was irritated to find that such 
could be the case. She had seemed to become a curious 
part of his daily existence. Her voice — her occasional 
light laughter — the rustle of her dress — the little half sighs 
which involuntarily escaped her, to say nothing of the 
talks in which they had indulged, revealing the girl’s 
nature and bringing out unsuspected forces in his own, 
had of late formed something so tangible, so engrossing in 
life, that Hargrave found himself longing indescribably 
to add the full gift of sight to the pleasure of his other 
senses. If for a moment or two he scorned himself for 
letting his mind drift in this fashion, he remembered that 
his ideal of womanhood had always been severely high, 
that he had few follies to recall and now might certainly 
allow himself the happiness of a little dreaming. The 
sterner side of the question smote him with something like 
a physical pain, for how should he dare expect a young 


148 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


creature like Ruth, brim full of life, energy, animation, 
and the expectancy of the future which belongs to youth, 
to care for the sentiment or feeling of a man like himself. 
He was by no means middle aged — was vigorous and self- 
assertive in many ways as a boy; but the period of en- 
forced darkness had seemed to shut him away from many 
of the daily joys of existence, compelling him to depend 
upon the utterances of others and to withhold many of 
his own innermost feelings. It had seemed to create the 
gravity belonging to middle life, and yet Hargrave, leaning 
back against his sofa pillows, laughed half loud, knowing 
well that were those eyes of his once more to open, they 
would look upon the joyous side of life with an almost 
boyish exultation. 

No better tonic or guard against the condition of nervous 
depression the doctors feared, could have been found for 
their patient, than the day dreams he had indulged in dur- 
ing that brief time of seclusion, and when Gregson, com- 
ing in, announced that Mr. Robert had arrived, and the 
physicians were in the reception-room below, the good man 
was intensely relieved to find his master in the most amiable 
frame of mind. 

Robert followed quickly, with quite as anxious a sensa- 
tion as the old servant experienced, but the first touch of 
his cousin’s hand reassured him. 

‘‘All right, Bob,” exclaimed Mr. Hargrave, using the 
old nickname for the first time in many years, “I am 
more than ready for the consultation, and I must say I 
never felt better in my life.” 

“Is that so?” exclaimed his cousin; “I declare it is 
worth a thousand dollars to me to hear it. I was afraid — 
that is, I did not know how all this might be going to 
affect you, and it is an ordeal for all of us. Do you 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


149 


know,” he went on heedlessly, “I believe if Miss Endi- 
coU had not been so convinced that her duty lay in keep- 
ing little Margaret out of the house, she would have been 
back here herself — what!” the young man went on, as 
Hargrave’s fingers unconsciously tightened upon his, “do 
the eyes pain you. Cousin John?” 

Mr. Hargrave dropped his cousin’s hand and said with 
a forced laugh : 

“No, I think not — that is, if they do, I am so eager 
about this affair that the one feeling absorbs every other. 
Now then, my dear boy,” he continued, “as soon as 
our medical friends can assemble the better I will be 
pleased.” 

It was characteristic of John Hargrave that he desired, 
w^hen the doctors entered the room, to have no one but 
themselves present at the consultation, and so Hobert 
went into the adjoining room, where he stood gazing 
down into the sunlit street, thinking in that vague, aimless 
way which belongs to moments of tense uncertainty and 
suspense. Some recollections of the boyhood brightened, 
encouraged, and made happy by his cousin’s ever watchful 
kindness rose to his mind, high lights in a picture which 
he was trying to form. No one had ever known exactly 
how the malady from which John Hargrave w^as suffering 
had originated, or, at least, no member of the family had 
been told of it. Mrs. Selby, it was true, had occasionally 
thrown out hints of a mystery attached to the beginning 
of the trouble, but it was scarcely likely that she knew 
the whole story, thought Robert, or she would have long 
ago relieved her mind of it to someone, probably to 
himself, and to have questioned Jolin Hargrave on the 
subject would have been impossible. Genial, kindly, 
generous as he was, there was a certain barrier of reserve 


150 


BUTE ENDICOTTS WAY. 


which no one, so far, had had the temerity to attempt to 
break down. Where there was a point on which he 
desired to be reticent, he remained so without the annoy- 
ance of any person’s intrusion. Some fitful sounds over- 
head reminded Robert, at this juncture, that Mrs. Selby 
was upstairs in a sort of durance vile, Mr. Hargrave hav- 
ing requested that during the doctors’ consultation she 
should keep quite out of the way, and the young fellow 
smiled, well knowing what she must be suffering from a 
desire to know all that was going on, and then suddenly the 
inner door was opened, and the arbiters of destiny, so to 
speak, solemnly filed back into the room. Robert wheeled 
about and faced them with a mute enquiry. The younger 
of the doctors looked at him, nodding his head and smil- 
ing, while after a moment. Dr. Wedcombe, the senior in 
office, said gravely: 

‘‘Mr. Hargrave, there is, I rejoice to say, some founda- 
tion for hope; but it is an absolute necessity that after 
the operation, which we have decided shall be performed 
at once, your cousin must not only be kept perfectly tran- 
quil, but his mind must in every way be diverted from 
himself, from everything that could possibly annoy or dis- 
tress him. Of course the management of the house is per- 
fect, but what we want is to keep him both composed and 
cheerful. Gregson tells us that he has quite a remark- 
able young secretary. Now, if she could be on hand 
constantly to read aloud or attend to his letters, using her 
judgment about anything which would distress him, that 
would be about the very best possible occupation for his 
mind and diversion for his thoughts. Where is she to be 
found just now?” 

Robert made haste to explain, saying that he thoroughly 
agreed with the doctor. Miss Endicott, he said, was 


RUTH ENDICOTT^ 8 WAY. 


151 


regally quite a remarkable girl in her way, so full of tact, 
so cheerful, and quick in her preceptions. She could be 
produced in three hours, if necessary. 

“Then produce her,” returned the doctor, with a grim 
sort of smile. “Gregson will be all the nurse that he 
requires. Now, I think,” he continued, “we will prepare 
for our next duty, and God send,” he added solemnly, 
“that success awaits us.” 


CHAPTER XXI. 


‘‘There you are,” exclaimed Mr. Powers, entering the 
family sitting-room with a piece of yellow paper in his 
hand; “what do you say to a telegram, of such import- 
ance that the station master sent a boy on horseback 
with it.” 

He proceeded to read it aloud, with dramatic emphasis, 
as though it were an oration : 

“William Powers, Martindale; 

“Important business matter necessitates Miss Endi- 
cott’s immediate return. Telegraph train ; she will be met 
at the station. Margaret will be sent for later. 

“Robert Hargrave.” 

As may well be imagined, in such a household this was 
followed by a half hour of confusion and excitement, 
during which Ruth, inwardly certain that her summons 
home had to do with Mr. Hargrave’s emergency, could 
scarcely speak except to reassure Margaret and beg of her to 
amuse herself among her cousins as pleasantly as possible. 
She made ready quickly for this sudden departure, a 
vehicle was borrowed or hired from some neighbor, and 
in a short time she found herself being whirled along the 
country roads to catch the express down to New York, 
and her inner consciousness still absorbed by thoughts of 
her employer, she felt herself able to understand clearly 
all of Mr. Powers’ instructions as to what she had better 
do on the train, but she was well aware that she would 

152 


BUTE ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


lo3 

only sit as motionless and patient as possible until her 
destination was reached. At last the final adieux were 
spoken, the train came rushing up, Ruth grasping her 
ticket as though it were a passport to something of almost 
eternal importance, made her way into the car, and was 
soon, greatly to her relief, speeding along the sunlit, 
charming country. A sense of gratitude, of unspeakable 
relief, filled her girlish heart and mind in that Mr. Har- 
grave had allowed her to be sent for, her conclusion being 
that he had business matters for her to attend to, such as 
letters to dictate, or, perhaps, troublesome people to see, 
while he was more than ever in the darkness. That her 
presence or encouragement could be soothing and helpful in 
this crisis had not occurred to her until, catching sight of 
Robert’s face as soon as she alighted from the train, she 
heard him exclaim: 

‘‘Thank Heaven you are here! You are needed to keep 
his mind at rest.” 

As they were driven rapidly down to her employer’s 
house, Ruth listened eagerly and intently to what her 
companion had to tell her. The operation had taken place 
and it w'as hoped that it might prove at least partially suc- 
cessful, but as everything depended now on his mental and 
physical well-being, they had sent for her to spend as 
much time as she possibly could in his company. 

“And meanwhile, if you will undertake this,” said 
Robert, “suppose 1 try to persuade Margaret to remain 
wdth your friend Mrs. Chesley? They will keep each 
other company admirably, and Cousin John’s house can be 
turned into a hospital for one patient for the time 
being.” 

“That will do excellently,” said Ruth, “and I have not 
the least doubt Margaret will do as we ask her. In any 


154 


BUTE ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


case,” she added, ‘‘she must, for he is our first considera- 
tion now.” 

An anxious-looking maid-servant admitted them, for 
Gregson was with his master, who had stoutly resisted the 
idea of having a trained nurse in attendance, and the girl 
at once conducted Ruth up to a charming little room, one 
of the many guest chambers, so seldom used, in the fine old 
house. Everything had been made ready for her, Ruth 
could see. The preparations seemed to be as though she 
was to remain as a fixture there, for some days at least, 
and in a moment Mrs. Selby joined her. 

“My she exclaimed, in the awestruck tone of 

voice many people see fit to use on such occasions, “I have 
been in such a state, for fear you would not get here, and 
you know what this trial of the doctors will mean. If it 
fails — well, there ” 

Mrs. Selby broke off, tears starting to her faded, elderly 
eyes. 

“It mustnoi fail, if we can help it,” said Ruth, in a low 
tone. 

She laid aside her wraps quickly enough, brushed back 
the rebellious locks of her hair, and in a moment announced 
herself ready to do anything she was bidden. 

Tempting as was the repast provided for her, Ruth 
found it almost impossible to eat a morsel, and was 
relieved when the summons came for her to go up to Mr. 
Hargrave’s room. 

He was seated in his accustomed easy chair — the room 
partially shaded, admitting light enough only for Ruth to 
see that his face was deathly pale, and even in the quiet of 
his attitude was a kind of tension which betrayed to her 
sensitive eyes something of what he might be feeling. 
He raised his head as she approached and held out his 


BUTII ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


155 


hand, returning the clasp of her warm young fingers 
cordially. 

“You are ver}^ good to come, to a dark room, to help 
me,” he said in a low voice. 

‘‘Good!” echoed Ruth quietly. “Ah no, Mr. Har- 
garve, I am only grateful for your allowing me to do the 
very thing, above all others, I wish — to be with you, at 
such a time as this.” 

She moved away, seating herself at the table, saying 
nothing, but making a slight rustle of the papers so that he 
should know what she was about. 

Gregson appeared from the inner door at this moment 
with some broth, which had been ordered for his master, 
in a few moments Mr. Hargrave had been persuaded to 
lie down upon the lounge, a small screen placed near by, 
so that all light should be excluded, while at one side of 
him, but so that he could hear her voice, Ruth seated her- 
self with one of his favorite books in her hand. It 
was Warner’s “Black Log Studies,” and Ruth read on in 
her pleasantly modulated, clear young voice, now and 
then pausing to give her companion the benefit of her own 
views. 

“By and bye,” she said, “we must get ‘My Summer in 
a Garden.’ I think you told me that you had never read 
it, and it is just the thing for these quiet hours, and then, 
oh, there are lots of other books,” she added, “Stockton, 
and ever so many writers, who will keep your mind amused 
and yet — what shall I say? What I mean is,” said the 
young girl, “not hurt one’s standard, as Miss Daintrey 
used to say. It’s so good to have a laugh, isn’t it, over 
something thoroughly funny but perfectl}" refined.” 

“You are right, wise little woman,” said her charge, 
the quiet smile, which she knew so well, lurking about his 


156 


Bum ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


lips; ‘‘that is the secret of true humor — how many people 
degenerate their spirit of fun by letting a touch of coarse- 
ness cloud it over. I foresee,” he added, ‘‘we shall 
become perfect dialogues in the interchange of opinion 
during these days, but then, of course, there will be 
letters to write and attend to.” 

Interested as Ruth felt, she was well aware it would not 
do to prolong any conversation, which might have a ten- 
dency to excite Mr. Hargrave, or give him any business 
matters to think of, and she was relieved when he sug- 
gested that she simply receive all his mail, open it, and 
give him an idea of the contents, so that he might tell 
what was of actual or immediate importance. 

Her duties for the present were ended by Gregson’s com- 
ing in to say that it was time for his master’s eyes to be 
attended to, according to the doctor’s direction, as one of 
the gentlemen would be there presently, and Ruth with- 
drew, going down to the little room near the parlor, where 
she found Mrs. Selby waiting for her. 

“I was thinking,” said that lady almost at once, 
“whether you would like to take a run down, or, better 
still, have the carriage and see Mrs. Chesley for a while. 
Little Margaret, you know, is to remain with her as soon 
as she arrives, which may be to-night.” 

“That is just what I will do,” said Ruth, “and when I 
have settled my family, old and young, 1 can come back 
here with a freer heart and do my duty better.” 

Mrs. Chesle}", as may well be imagined, received her 
young companion with open arms and tenderest expres- 
sions of delight, and she was well enough pleased to find 
Ruth had so important a duty assigned to her, and also 
quite satisfied that little Margaret should be her com- 
panion. A brief discussion with Mrs. Renfrew simplified 


BUTE ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


157 


the one anxiety Ruth had felt, namely, lest Mrs. Chesley 
need special care from someone in the house. The land- 
lady readily agreed to look after all her lodger’s wants and, 
if necessary, to report to the young mistress of the little 
upstairs dwelling, any day Ruth could not make her own 
appearance. 

Ruth wrote an affectionate, encouraging little line for 
Margaret, telling her she expected she w^ould prove an 
excellent companion for Mrs. Chesley in every wa}^ and 
this she pinned on to the cushion of her own dressing 
table, where Margaret would see it directly she arrived. A 
few moments sufficed to see that provisions were in the 
larder for the time being; to pack up a few articles for her 
own use while at Mr. Hargarve’s, and she was ready to 
return, assuring her friend and companion that she would 
manage to look in upon her as early as possible the next 
day. 

And then Ruth, seated in the luxurious brougham wdiich 
had convcj^ed her to Mrs. Renfrew’s quiet abode, started 
back to the house where she w^as really beginning the second 
important phase in her existence, how important she little 
knew; and yet it had been led up to by the most natural 
sequence of events, each one of which was the outcome of 
the other, not at all the startling incidents which are 
supposed to color the lives and fortunes of heroines of 
romance. It does not take a very deeply philosophical mind 
to look back over the history of any period in life and see 
that even the apparently surprising occurrences are but 
the natural result of what has gone before; of the action, 
conduct, and even character of the people involved, and 
that Ruth Endicott w’as on her w^ay now to John Har- 
grave’s house, installed as his confidential secretary and 
companion, was as much a matter of course as that she had 


158 


RUTH ENBIGOTT 8 WAY. 


been selected for family reasons to fill the post. Possibly, 
years back lay the starting point of all the threads now 
woven into the lives of the people whose story we are 
dealing with, but the ball, once set rolling, goes on and on, 
finding its way further until the thread is spun out, the 
last point reached. 


CHAPTER XXIL 


Mrs. Selby had been in a frame of mind bordering on 
the hysterical, and Ruth was welcomed by her with a ten- 
der effusiveness which touched the young girl’s heart and 
gave her that consciousness of being a necessity to some 
one which is, to a gentle mind, half the battle of life. 
She conducted Ruth at once into the room prepared for her, 
and began an eager disquisition on the outcome of theif 
present anxiety. Ruth listened as we do to a meaningless 
flow of words, answering almost at random, since both 
heart and mind were absorbed in something of far deeper 
import. 

“How long do you suppose,” began Mrs. Selby, “we 
will have to wait until we know just what the doctors’ 
verdict, as they call it, will be?” 

“That is difficult to say,” answered Ruth calmly, “and 
you know,” she added, “their first injunction was that he 
was to be kept from every kind of nervous anxiety. The 
only object in having me here is that I may read to him 
or amuse him in any way which will keep his mind from 
dwelling upon the resalt of the operation. To fret him 
with questions as to how he felt this minute or that would 
be the last thing which I would think of doing.” 

“Well, I should think,” said Mrs. Selby, “he’d feel 
you were not very much interested if you didn’t ask him 
something of the kind once in a while.” 

Ruth did not know whether it was wiser for her to 


159 


160 


BUTH ENDIGOTT^ 8 WAY, 


argue the point further or to simply appear acquiescent, 
and, fortunately, at that moment Gregson appeared with a 
message from his master. Would Miss Endicott step up 
to the library for a moment? 

Ruth could not determine how to account for her own 
peculiar interest in waiting upon any order from her 
employer. 

It was not entirely the result of girlish pride in having 
so much responsibility placed upon her young shoulders. 
It was something which lifted her out of the ordinary and 
commonplace realms of thought; something which, in a 
vague way, she felt was the response to a call of her own 
nature. It was like the half-defined feeling which she had 
experienced as a little child, years before, when, sitting 
down in an old-fashioned New England garden belonging 
to a relative of her mother’s, she had aroused herself on 
an otherwise dismal Sunday by pretending to herself that 
the butterflies and flowers, the smooth green lawn and the 
vine-covered brick wall, near the stables, were her fairy- 
land, out of which she wove a fantastic vision which 
pleased and amused her childish mind, yet certainly gave a 
hint of what her deeper woman’s nature required. The 
old feeling of those childish days had only now and then 
come back to warm some shadowy corner in her life, but 
now, as Ruth made her way to Mr. Hargrave’s room, it 
was with the same kind of feeling that she thought of him 
and her possible association with his future needs. 

The room was still shaded and he was seated with his 
back against the light, but he held his hand out as she 
entered, saying quietly : 

“Shall I lose the more exquisite sense of hearing, I 
wonder, in regaining my sight? I know your step the very 
instant that it is at my door.” 


RUTH ENDICOTT'8 WAT, 


161 


‘‘And you are belter,” answered Ruth; “I can tell it 
by the sound of your voice. It is brighter and more 
encouraging in every way, and I almost think,” she added, 
laughing, “that I will let you dictate a few letters, if you 
like.” 

“The very thing,” exclaimed Mr. Hargrave. “Now 
take your place; look over the last mail which you will find 
on the table. Nothing has been opened. Take them one 
by one and read the signatures first.” 

A pile of correspondence had been neatly placed by 
Gregson in his master’s letter box at one side of the large 
table, and Ruth took it out, going through one envelope 
after another. Some contained advertisements, others 
requests for subscriptions to various objects of charity or 
public interest, some were announcements from dealers in 
works of art or curios that they had such and such valuable 
acquisitions to their stock, which Mr. Hargrave might like 
to invest in, etc., etc., then suddenly, as Ruth was going 
through the letters, her hands seemed turned to ice. 
What should she do ? The letter which she held in her 
hand, which, of course, she had been told to open and 
read, could not, no, must not be read aloud to him — now, 
at least. It was a moment which might have been an 
eternity to the young girl in the amount of anxiety 
and thought it entailed; but she decided swiftly enough 
that the doctor’s orders must be obeyed. Mental anxiety 
at this moment would be ruinous to the recovery of his 
sight and she contrived to lay the letter to one side, forc- 
ing herself to go on with the rest in as controlled a tone 
of voice as possible. 

She had answered at his dictation three or four of the 
purely business letters, when Gregson appeared with the 
nourishment and slight stimulant ordered by the doctor. 


162 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^ 8 WAY. 


It was an unspeakable relief to Ruth, who rose at once, 
slipping the letter into her pocket. 

“Are you not to rest for a little while, Mr. Hargiave?” 
she said gently, going nearer to him. “Suppose you give 
your secretary,” she added, laughing, “half an hour’s free 
time, or even a little longer,” she continued, “and I will 
run down and see how Mrs. Chesley and little Margaret are 
getting on. You know I have two households to con- 
sider.” 

“Quite right,” he answered; “you must think of your- 
self, for I foresee that I am becoming very selfish in my 
demands.” 

Ruth made haste to escape, and in a few moments was 
out of the house, glad of the chance for a walk, during 
which to collect her thoughts and consider what it was 
best for her to do. She longed intensely for the guidance 
of a stronger, abler mind than her own — someone who 
could advise, even direct her, and perhaps at no time in 
her life had the peculiar isolation of her position been 
more apparent. For, she argued wdthin herself, to whom 
in such an emergency as this could she turn? She had 
found a letter among her employer’s correspondence the 
contents of which, were they to be made known to him 
now, might prove disastrous — yet business matters of im- 
portance might be awaiting his decision in regard to the 
subject with which the letter dealt. Ruth almost mechan- 
ically made her way into a park near by and sat down to 
think, with all the faculties of her mind and heart, what 
she had better do. Suddenly, like a flash, it occurred to 
her that Mr. Hargrave’s lawyer, Mr. Pearson, would cer- 
tainly be the best one to whom to refer the matter. He 
would be compelled to regard it as confidential, were she 
to place it in his hands as a client, and he certainly had 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


1G3 


Mr. Hargrave’s interest sufficiently at heart to do nothing 
which would injure her employer. It was too late in the 
da}^ to see Mr. Pearson, and Ruth decided to make her 
visit to Mrs. Chesley and Margaret, and if the lawyer did 
not call during the evening, find him for herself at the ear- 
liest possible hour the next morning. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


Mrs. Renfrew welcomed Rutli with open arms, and as 
cordial a greeting awaited her when she entered her 
own little apartment. Margaret, who had already estab- 
lished herself there, was in a condition of excitement 
bordering on frenzy, when she caught the first glimpse of 
Ruth’s face and figure. They at once began to clear away 
the place of honor for her, drawing forth the easy chair 
and asking as many questions as could be put into ten 
minutes of time, while Ruth laid aside her things and sat 
down, really very glad not only of the welcome extended 
to her, but of the sense of home feeling which the little 
place gave. It washer home^ she felt; humble though it 
might be, it represented all that she knew at present of 
home life, and accordingly gave a sense of peace and 
security which was more to her than anything merely to 
be purchased by money. 

‘‘Would she like a cup of tea?” Mrs. Chesley made haste 
to enquire, and, delighted when Ruth said nothing would 
please her better, the old lady soon had the kettle boiling, 
and a fragrant cup of tea prepared, which, with some mar- 
malade and bread, made a tempting little lunch. 

“I declare,” exclaimed Ruth, “you look. Cousin Jane, 
as though you are going to set up in business for yourself. 
The next thing I shall hear, I presume, is that you are 
going to open a boarding house in some fashionable 
locality, or perhaps some grand dressmaking establish- 
ment.” 


164 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


165 


Mrs. Chesley smiled with pleasure. 

“That is precisely what I am planning, my dear,” she 
said quietly. “I am thinking about it all the time, and 
since I have been here so quietly and comfortably I have 
seemed to be able to make my plans more to my own 
liking, and very soon you will find that I am in a position 
to do something you will not be ashamed of.” 

“But I don’t intend,” laughed Ruth, “to let you neg- 
lect me. You know you are my housekeeper, companion, 
counsellor, and friend, and if you add anything more to 
your duties I may be left out in the cold.” 

The little clock on the mantel pealed forth the hour and 
Ruth started, remembering that it would not do for her 
to be too long away. She was satisfied that all things 
were going for the best at Mrs. Renfrew’s: little Mar- 
garet was supremely content, acting as housekeeper and 
companion to Mrs. Chesley, and the old lady was equally 
delighted with having the child’s companionship. It was 
something for them to look forward to, that Ruth was to 
visit them once or twice a day while she remained at Mr. 
Hargrave’s house, and it was a great deal to Margaret that 
she had escaped the noise and confusion of the Powers’ 
household. 

Once more on her way back to Mr. Hargrave’s Ruth 
found that her entire undercurrent of thought had been the 
strange letter she had chanced upon, since its contents 
immediately flashed uppermost in her mind. The more 
she considered the surer she felt that she had been right 
in concealing it — at all events, she could speedily take 
counsel, and in her post of confidential secretary she had 
the right to use some discretion on her employer’s behalf. 

She had almost reached Mr. Hargrave’s corner, and with 
down-bent eyes was thinking so intently that she had no 


166 


BUTE ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


idea of any person’s near approach, until a voice ex- 
claimed : 

“Miss Endicott, I declare! For a brown study you 
would make a subject for an artist,” and she lifted her eyes 
to encounter the pleasant hazel orbs of Robert Hargrave. 

“Oh, well, yes,” said Ruth, somewhat disjointedly ; “I 
was thinking, I must admit. Where did you come from?” 
she added. 

“Out of the west,” he answered, laughing, and turning 
to join her in her walk, “I have been over to that part of 
old New York known in ye ancient days as Chelsea, to look 
up a piece of property belonging to my cousin, and near 
by I had to find a superannuated person who could give 
me some information in regard to a purchase made con- 
nected with it, and then, good fortune, you see, brought 
me in your way. Now for an account of yourself.” 

“Easily rendered,” returned Ruth, and yet as she 
gave a brief sketch of what had taken place, she remem- 
bered, with a half guilty throb, the letter lying in the 
recesses of her pocket. “My main anxiety ,” she went on, 
“is that the next few days shall pass in deep content 
for him, to which end I have made up my mind this even- 
ing, if he will let me, to read aloud some portions of ‘The 
Earthly Paradise.’ We have, ‘My Summer in a Gar- 
den,’ and various other books of the kind on hand, but I 
find that a diversion even of subjects amuses him best.” 

Young Hargrave looked down at the slender girlish 
figure, the quiet uplifted face whose first charm was in its 
perfectl}" j^outhful bloom, and wondered more than ever 
at the capacity for thought and feeling where others were 
concerned, as well as the delicate appreciation of the 
subtler needs of each nature which this young girl seemed 
to possess. Best of all, no doubt, was her entire uncon- 


BUTE ENBICOTT^S WAY. 


167 


sciousness of power. What a grip it would give upon life 
in its higher meaning, thought the young man suddenly, 
to have complete mastery of the heart of such a woman. 
A feeling of the kind, as the wisest of philosophers must 
be aware, is apt to present itself in a developed stage in a 
flash. It was a moment of supreme intuition for young 
Hargrave. He dared not for an instant trust himself to 
speak, even to answer her in a commonplace fashion, lest 
he betray what he was feeling; but it must have been that 
something unusual showed itself to Ruth, for, as at the 
street corner he put his hand out to detain her from going 
too near an approaching vehicle, she turned as his fingers 
rested on her arm, and their eyes met with a strange chal- 
lenge of each other’s thoughts within them. 

“I will be careful,” said Ruth, suddenly drawing her- 
self away, “and yet,” she added, with a little nervous 
laugh, “I am always a coward about crossing the streets 
where there is a rush of wagons and cars.” 

“You should not go out so much alone,” said young 
Hargrave, in a peremptory tone; “I have said so from the 
first. I hope you are not sent,” he added sternly, “on 
any business errands far down town, in the more crowded 
thoroughfares. If anything arises of the kind, you have 
only to let me know and I can attend to it at once.” 

They were near to the house and Robert stood still, 
holding out his hand. 

“Promise me,” he said, “that you will refer to me in 
matters of the kind. I think I can judge something of 
your nature, and that you will be quite ready to do any- 
thing required of you which you considered a duty; and 
it annoys me to feel that you may be undertaking more 
than you ought, for your own health and comfort and 
well-being.” 


168 


B UTH ENDIGOTT YiA T. 


For one instant it flashed across Ruth’s mind that she 
might perhaps then and there make a confidant of Robert 
in regard to the letter she had discovered earlier in the day. 
Something, an instinct of prudence keen in the girl, held 
her back, and she answered only : 

‘‘You are too good, Mr. Hargrave, but believe me I 
fully appreciate it, and I shall remember it,” she went on, 
“by taxing your kindness whenever 1 require it. It is 
true that I am often in need of counsel. I feel myself 
sometimes in a very peculiar position, for I have really no 
one belonging to me to whom I can turn for advice, or, 
what ia better still for some natures, actual dictation. I 
feel as though, many times, it would be better for me were 
someone to say, go here, go there, do this, do that, and let 
me blindly obey. The necessity of judging always for 
one’s self does not suit my temperament.” 

“So much the better,” said the young man quickly; 
“nothing could be more conducive to a perfect frame of 
mind and consistent action than realizing one’s need of 
occasional sympathetic direction. So then,” he added, 
smiling brightly, “I am to be constituted father confes- 
sor, am I?” 

“No, no!” laughed Ruth quickly. “I yield that place 
to no ordinary man as yet. My counsel,” she added; 
“that sounds better, does it not?” 

He was about to speak, but checked the impulse, and no 
doubt it was as well, since the subject merited deeper 
consideration than he had yet given it, and as they entered 
the house, young Hargrave congratulated himself that he 
had done nothing rash. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Ruth could hardly pay attention to the conversation 
going on at the dinner table between young Hargrave and 
Mrs. Selby, in which she took a certain part, so anxious 
was she to know whether the lawyer would make his 
appearance, and if so, how she could contrive to see him 
alone. The solution of her difficulty, however, was settled 
while they were still at dessert. Gregson announced Mr. 
Pearson, opening the dining-room door with elaborate 
courtesy for that gentleman to enter, and she felt sure, 
before going to Mr. Hargrave’s room, she could make the 
needed opportunity. 

‘‘Everything encouraging so far, I hope,” said Mr. 
Pearson briskly. “I am sure if ever a doctor had a 
patient well cared for, it is our friend. Everything seems 
to have been done precisely as it should be, and dear, dear, 
when we think of those poor souls in the hospitals, lying 
hour after hour, waiting to know what is going to happen 
to them next and all that sort of thing, it makes us wonder 
wh}’’ we don’t realize the blessed privilege of home 
comforts.” 

“Take care,” said young Hargrave lightly; “you strike 
a sensitive place with me; for I am an enthusiast on the 
subject of our hospital practice and management. I don’t 
deny there are fearful abuses in many of the institutions, 
but in the majority of cases the management and methods 
have proved admirable enough to send a shoal of 
foreigners over here to study into them, and think how 

169 


RUTH ENDICOTTS WAY. 


170 

much better off the poor sick are iu clean, airy wards, with 
trained nurses or religious and physicians in attendance, 
than in the miserable places they call homes, Avhile even the 
better class do well to avail themselves of hospital privi- 
leges. As a matter of fact, were I to be stricken down to- 
morrow with any ailment or accident, I would ring up an 
ambulance and be carried out to the first city hospital which 
would take me in. However,” he added, laughing off his 
own enthusiasm on this subject, ‘‘this has nothing to do, 
so far as 1 can see, with my cousin John’s position, and I 
beg pardon for the digression.” 

At last the meal was over; fortune favored Ruth, since 
Mrs. Selby, it appeared, desired a few moments conversa- 
tion with Robert in the large bow window of the dining- 
room — one of the little confidences about nothing at all 
which she was fond of indulging in — and Ruth, with a 
slight motion of her hand, drew Mr. Pearson to one side. 

“Mr. Pearson,” she said quickly, “there is a matter of 
great importance I must see you about at once. I could 
not worry Mr. Hargrave with it, and I dared not men- 
tion it to anyone else. It is something I came upon quite 
by chance — you know, he has me open all his correspond- 
ence — well, I know that I did right — I had to keep back this 
letter, and you are the only person to whom I can speak.” 

The lawyer’s face had undergone various changes while 
the girl was speaking, and as she finished he said quickly: 

“You have done quite right. Come with me at once 
into the small study upstairs.” 

He turned to the others, saying with a good-humored 
smile: -“I am going to take Miss Endicott up into the 
study for a little talk about her patient before I see him, 
as it is evident that he must not be unduly excited.” 

It seemed a perfectly natural thing to do, and directly 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


171 


they were upstairs in the little room known as the study, 
Mr. Pearson, looking gravely at his companion, said: 

‘‘Miss Endicott, I can well imagine that your position 
is a trying one, and I congratulate Mr. Hargrave upon 
having such a trustworthy — well — confidential clerk. 
Now then for this letter.” 

“It came by the first mail,” said Ruth hurriedly. “Of 
course I opened it, with the others, and read it at his bid- 
ding. But I have been in the habit of scanning them 
through first, so that, fortunately, I did not read it aloud.” 

It was written on a sheet of highly glazed, gilt-edged, 
and blue-lined paper, in a woman’s hand, and ran as 
follows : 

“Dear Sir: I wonder what you are thinking of, living 
in all that style and spending so much money when you 
ought to know you haven’t got the right to it, and you 
are defrauding those who should have it. The very girl 
that’s working for you ought to know the truth of the 
matter, and any day you choose to send her up to my 
house in Highbridge, I’ll put her on the right track. I’ll 
give you a little longer time, and then look out for things 
for her and myself! No need to sign my name, more than 
to say it’s from 

“Lydia.” 

Accustomed as Mr. Pearson was to surprises, in his pro- 
fessional capacity, it was evident that in reading this letter 
he received something like a shock; but for an instant he 
could say nothing, onlj^ look at Ruth with fixed intent- 
ness, owning himself in a situation as critical to his client 
as it was perplexing to himself. He knew enough of Mr. 
Hargrave’s history to be aware of the writer’s identity. 


172 


BUTE ENDICOTT'S WAT. 


But there was much he did not know, and how to proceed 
was a tormenting problem. He paced the room two or 
three times, deep in thought, while Ruth waited, tilled 
with a strange, nervous apprehension and anxiety. 

At last she could keep silent no longer. 

‘‘You must explain something, Mr. Pearson,” she ex- 
claimed, “since this Lydia” — she spoke the name with an 
accent of scorn — “seems to know something of me, and it is 
evident that she wishes to annoy Mr. Hargrave.” 

JEvident ! echoed the lawyer, “of course she does, 
and by Jove !” he added, “she has it in her power to do so, 
especially if that blundering old Merritt gets wind of it.” 

He waited a moment and then resumed: 

“On the whole, now that I know something of what she 
is up to, I will feel my way with Mr. Hargrave in order to 
draw him out upon the subject. “My dear young lady,” 
he continued, “you deserve an immense amount of credit 
for your good behavior in this matter. She has only used 
your name because — well, I suppose in consequence of 
something in your father’s association with Mr. Hargrave 
— she thinks it an additional weapon, but you need not be 
afraid that she will involve you in any trouble.” 

Ruth, who had been standing by the mantel, deep in 
thought, lifted her head quicklj". 

“I am not afraid of any personal trouble,” she said 
gravely, “indeed, if you will believe me, I am thinking 
chiefly of him. The doctors have said that any anxiety 
would be fatal to the success of the operation.” 

“Yes, but this woman 7nust be stopped, and I cannot do 
it,” exclaimed Mr. Pearson, “without a few words with 
Mr. Hargrave on the subject! Indeed I am powerless to 
act at all without his sanction.” 

“I must leave it to you then,” said Ruth, “and I hope 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


173 


you will tell me if there is anything that 1 can do, to raahe 
matters easier.” 

“Certainly, certainly,” said the lawyer qnickl 3 \ “My 
dear young lady, you deserve our very first consideration. 
But he will be wondering what has become of me, so I 
will go in to him and in a little while, no doubt, he will 
send for you.” 

Ruth, left alone, sat down, puzzled, unhappy, and de- 
pressed. She thought of the book — the little album in 
the drawing-room, of the strangeness of her coming here, 
of her father’s lonely, wandering life, and it seemed to 
her as though it was all a puzzle, the pieces of which she 
was trying vainly to put together in her mind — to piece to 
her own satisfaction, and for the interests of all concerned. 
She was doubly thankful, however, that she had spoken 
of the matter to no one but Mr. Pearson. Robert, she 
felt sure, would have been all kindness and sympathy, 
and would have brought a keen intelligence to bear upon 
the question, but it would only have been complicating 
matters, probably to no good purpose. She wondered 
what was going on upstairs between the lawyer and client. 
Few sounds were audible in the house, even Mrs. Selby’s 
voice or step was not to be heard; but at last the door 
opened and Mr. Pearson reappeared. His face was unusu- 
ally grave, his expression perplexed, but he said at once: 

“Miss Endicott, I have done my best to avoid giving 
Mr. Hargrave any excitement which would injure him, but 
in order to prevent something still worse, I was obliged to 
let him know a letter was received, he thinks it was to 
me, from this party who signs herself Lydia. ^Naturally 
enough, he dreads anything like resuming relations with 
the woman or her family, to whom, if the actual truth 
were known, be is under no moral or pecuniary obliga- 


174 


BUTE ENDIGOTr 8 WAT. 


tion, but slie has a certain hold on him, owing to some 
business connection in the past. If it were not for his 
physical condition just now I would say let her come 
and do her worst. But, of course, his full recovery is what 
we have now to consider as paramount.” 

He paused, regarded Ruth for an instant in critical 
silence, and then continued, his eyes intently fixed upon 
her face : 

‘‘To sum it all up, therefore, I would say that, if a 
trustworthy messenger could be sent to her, that will be 
the best solution of our difficulty at present. I must see 
that this is done. Her mention of you in this communica- 
tion amounts to nothing at all, since it is evident that she 
merely thinks, since you are acting as Mr. Hargrave’s 
amanuensis, you are in possession of something which 
she might use to her own advantage. I am puzzled to 
know,” he continued, “ how she ever heard that you are 
here.” 

“ Could not I go to her ! ” exclaimed Ruth suddenly. 
“You know how mtensely I am that eveiy thing 

should be done in the best way possible for Mr. Hargrave, 
and you may rely upon my discretion now, especially since 
her note forewarns me.” 

“ Why, I shouldn’t wonder if that would be the very 
best thing to do,” said Mr. Pearson quickly. “ She will 
see then that we are not in the least afraid of her in one 
sense, and we need not worry Hargrave by even letting 
him know of your journey. He will suppose you are with 
your old friend or attending to some business of your own. 
Sit down one moment,” he continued, drawing out his 
note-book and pencil, “ and I can tell you briefij^ just what 
to do.” 

In half an hour the details were arranged and Ruth 


RUTH ENDIG0TT8 WAY. 


lib 


sufficiently informed as to the facts to undertake her 
mission intelligently. 

The woman’s name was Lydia Underwood. She was a 
widow who had had some claim upon Mr. Hargrave’s 
(Sr.) partner’s estate, in which he had been slightly 
involved, but the indebtedness had long since, he was cer- 
tain, been fully |)aid. 

The only possible trouble which could have arisen would 
be from Mr. Hargrave’s carelessness in keeping proper 
receipts, but, of course, the woman might not know of this. 
Ruth’s instructions were to call upon her, and stating 
that Mr. Hargrave was undergoing a most critical opera- 
tion for his eyes, enquire upon just wdiat ground Mrs. 
Underwood based her claim upon Ruth’s employer, giving 
her to understand that as soon as the doctors would permit 
it, Mr. Hargrave would attend to the matter in person. 

‘‘You might even tell her,” said Mr. Pearson, “that, 
acting as his confidential secretary, you had suppressed his 
letter and referred it to me, and that, sooner than mix up a 
third party in it, 1 undertook to send 3^ou to see her.” 

“I can’t see why there should be any trouble,” said 
Ruth buoyantly. “Of course she will know directly that 
she can do nothing at present, and as soon as he is well 
enough he will take the matter into his own hands.” 

“Undoubtedly,” declared Mr. Pearson, much relieved 
to find that Ruth did not view the matter in any sensa- 
tional light. “ Your work,” he continued, “appears to 
involve as much travelling around as anything else.” He 
smiled. “You accepted a position as secretary, but now it 
would appear that you are to be confidential emissary-at- 
large, let us say. At this rate you wdll acquire enough 
experience in short time to fit 3"ou for a government 
office.” 


176 


RUTH ENDIGOXrS WAY. 


Ruth shook her head. 

‘‘No publicity for me, if you please,” she answered. “I 
like work, and I like a certain amount of responsibility, 
because it stimulates me; but I want to do it all as quietly, 
so far as I am concerned, as possible.” 

“No footlights in the business?” said Mr. Pearson, 
laughing. 

“Not a gleam of them.” She paused a moment and 
then added: “The firelight of my own home — that is 
what I want for my illumination.” 

Mr. Pearson left the house, pondering deeply upon what 
had happened, and impressed, in an unusual degree, by the 
character and nature of the young girl from whom he had 
just parted, but he knew something of the calibre of the 
Endicotts, and he saw the strength and honesty of the 
race exemplified in this fine young girl. Meanwhile Ruth, 
receiving no further summons to her employer’s room, 
had found Mrs. Selb}^ in the smaller sitting-room upstairs, 
and after a little talk bade her good-night, going up to 
the luxurious if somewhat old-fashioned apartment appro- 
priated to her use. 

Everything about it spoke of the luxury as well as the 
long accustomed ease and comfort of the household, and 
Ruth enjoyed it. Seated in the chintz-covered easy chair 
near the window, she allowed herself a half hour of idle, 
dreaming speculation, and that sort of wonderment as 
to the future which is part of all our planning in life. 
Nothing as yet in her life had taken deep enough root to 
make her feel any one thing definitely and securely fixed. 
Interests she had, without doubt, both numerous and 
varied, and there was sufficient occupation to fill each day 
pleasantly and with a sense of usefulness. But she was 
conscious of a lack of permanence or a strongly personal 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAT, 


111 


feeling in it all. It was the same sensation, thought 
Ruth, which had pursued her so long. Why was it that 
she was to be denied, it would appear, the home ties, the 
home surroundings given to so many others who, perhaps, 
were carelessly unappreciative of them? At this moment 
even the Merritt household seemed somewhat important 
to her in that it was really a home centre; a place to which 
the young people could turn in thought as representing 
what they knew of family life. Not a touch of the nomad 
was there in my little heroine. Fond as she was of the 
artistic side of life, she was yet essentiall}^ a home bird, 
keener for everything connected with what would create 
her own fireside, to be shared by those she loved, than for 
the more glittering externals of the outside world. 

“Come what will,” was her final reflection, “if I have 
brains and hands to earn it, I will make a home for Cousin 
Jane and myself; for little Margaret, perhaps; anyway it 
shall be a home of our She glanced about the 

beautiful room in which she was seated, looking up at the 
great window, draped in crimson silk, through which the 
star-light of the night was visible, and concluded with a 
sigh, “No, it is all very fine, but give me my own little 
nest in preference to these borrowed splendors.” 

The housemaid tapped at the door, coming in to^enquire 
if there was anything she could do for Miss Endicott, and 
busied herself for a few moments looking after this and 
that in the room, while Ruth asked whether Mrs. Selby 
had retired. “She had not,” the girl said, “and would 
Miss Endicott like to see her, when she came home?” 

It occurred to Ruth suddenly, however, that it might be 
as well to leave further discussion of these vexed questions 
until the morrow. Da^dight shows us far more than dark- 
ness, even in decisions of a trifling nature, and Ruth felt 
she could wait with profit to herself and those dear to her. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


Ten o’clock tlie next morning found Ruth at that once 
well-known suburb of New York known as Highbridge, and 
following Mr. Pearson’s instructions, on leaving the train 
she stepped into the nearest grocery and enquired her most 
direct way to a “ Mrs. Underwood’s cottage.” 

“ Underwood ? repeated the shopman slowly, and 
before he could say more, a brisk voice from a half-open 
door at the rear interposed : 

Why, you know, pa, it’s a mother and daughter ; they 
go to Babcock’s church.” The voice developed into a 
face and the grocer’s daughter continued : “You turn 
right around this corner, and walk till you get to the plank 
walk, and there you can’t help seeing it. It’s a cottage, all 
its lone, and kinder rickety fence.” 

Vague as the directions might seem, Ruth found them 
so accurate that in ten minutes she felt sure she had 
reached her destination — a forlorn enough looking little 
cottage, fronting directly on the road, but having at one 
side a small garden, dignified in the midst of weediness 
and decay by a fine old apple tree whose branches swayed 
above the prcket fence as though they would fain shelter its 
fallen condition from the rude gaze of passers-by. 

The front door was ajar, but Ruth knocked, and then 
stood patiently on the weedj- doorstep until a voice from 
within called out : 

“ Who’s there ? Jest come in, will you.” 

Accordingly, Ruth penetrated into a shadowy, uncar- 

178 


BUTE ENDIGOTT* 8 WAT, 


179 


peted hall glancing about as she wondered which of the 
two doorways on the left she should enter. One at the 
lower end was open, revealing a “piece” of ground which 
had once been laid out to some good purpose, but now 
seemed to have shared the general decadence of it’s 
surroundings. 

Her question was answered when the door of the front 
room was opened with a jerk, revealing a tall angular fig- 
ure, that of a woman perhaps forty years of age, and who 
confronted her unexpected visitor, removing some pins 
from her mouth before speaking, and affording Ruth time 
to take in an impression of a keen, thin, rather sallow face 
with snapping black eyes, a well-formed Roman nose, 
black hair “ curtained ” behind her ears, and lips so thin 
and nearly colorless as to be unnoticeable until their owner 
opened them to speak. 

“D’you wish to see Aliss Underwood?” enquired the 
lad}^, not advancing beyond the doorway of the room, “or 
was it her in a ? ” 

Miss Underwood, I believe,” said Ruth with grave 
composure. “ I came on a matter of business.” 

She paused an instant, while the woman still clung to 
the framework of the doorway in which she was standing, 
and apparently with no intention of encouraging a mere 
“ caller ” or possibly intruder. 

“I came,” said Ruth, lifting her head proudly, “ from 
Mr. Hargrave’s lawyer.” 

Miss Underwood, for it was she, gave a little shriek and 
pushed open wide the door behind her. 

“Oh, you don’t say!'^'* she exclaimed. “Well, come 
right in, though my work’s a-lying all topsy-turvy around. 
I guess you won’t mind. You see, I’m a dressmaker by 
trade, but times is so dull all round about here, why I 


180 


RUTH ENDICOTr 8 WAY. 


work for a shop down-town and just take wliatsomever 
comes along.” 

Until bowed rh assent and waited in tlie middle of a 
very unpromising looking sitting-room, scrupulously clean 
in spite of the litter of work about, but hopelessly ugly, 
while Miss Underwood cleared a rocking chair of a pile of 
shirt waists and pushed it toward her, seating herself in 
one by the window and staring fixedly for a moment at 
her guest. 

she exclaimed at last, leaning back in her 
chair and shaking her liead slowly, “If this don’t beat all 
for a likeness ! If you aint an Endicott there aint one of 
them above groun’.” 

Ruth smiled faintly. “I am Ruth Endicott,” she said 
quickly, the very admission of her name giving her 
courage. “ I am employed as Mr. John Hargrave’s 
secretary.” 

“ Yes ? I knew you was doin’ some kind of work down 
there.” 

Ruth was on the point of enquiring the source of the 
lady’s information, but decided it would be wiser to go 
right to the main purpose of her visit. 

“ I may as well tell you,” she continued, “that Mr. Har- 
grave has just undergone a critical operation for his eyes 
and must absolutely, the doctors say, be spared all excite- 
ment or worry of mind. I have his authority to open and 
read all his letters, and so saw yours — but, of course, I 
dared not show it to him.” 

“ What ’d you do with it ?” asked her hostess. 

“ I gave it to his lawyer — Mr. Pearson,” said Ruth, 
perfectly unmoved to all outer demonstration, “and he 
advised my coming to see you.” 

Miss Underwood laughed half derisively. 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAT, 


181 


‘‘He did, eli ?” she said, rubbing her long nose with her 
hand, and regarding Ruth as though she was part of some- 
thing very humorous. “ I rather guess,” she went on, 
“ he knew enough ioY that — you — or himself, mebbe. He 
knew there was no use in i\g\\Uu^ justice. And let me tell 
you one thing, Ruth Endicott,” she added sharply, and 
speaking as though long familiarity with the name made 
formality absurd. “ It’s lucky for you that you clianced 
here when 3Iah out, for she wouldn’t be nothing like as 
free in speech as I\l be. No, sir — she’d feel aroun’ and 
poke aroun’, and say everything come handy first — but I 
mean to tell you the hull story. Only there’s one thing as 
I do bargain for.” 

She had risen now — and although evidently under a cer- 
tain excitement stood looking down upon her visitor with 
a very cool critical expression. 

“ It’s just thisj^ she went on, “ if it turns out as there’s 
money in it for you, I must be well paid for my part in 
the — well— 

With a sense of growing disgust, dread of what she 
might have to hear, and yet a consciousness that she must 
learn all that this woman had to tell, Ruth bowed and 
murmured something about doing whatever Mr. Pearson 
advised. 

“If he has any sense,” said Miss Underwood, with a 
grim smile, “ he will know that he and you oughter make 
terms with me. Now, I’ve something in here as maybe 
you’d like to see.” 

She opened the door of the adjoining room and, motion- 
ing Ruth to follow, led the way into a bedroom, Avhere she 
filing open the blinds and pointed dramatically to a por- 
trait in crayon hanging above the mantel. 

Ruth started forward — the little cry on her lips stifled 


182 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAT. 


by the rush of feeling witli which she recognized the por- 
trait. There was no questioning who liad sat for that por- 
trait ! It was her father— although it represented him in 
the flush of early manhood, it corresponded exactly to the 
little miniature of him which she cherished dearl3\ 

‘‘I see you recognize it,” said Miss Underwood with 
satisfaction. She watched the color come and go on 
Ruth’s fair uplifted face. “ As you stand there,” she went 
on, you do look wonderfully like him and no mistake! 
Where ’d you suppose that picture come from ?” 

‘‘ How can I tell ?” Ruth looked eagerlj^ at her hostess. 

I cannot imagine. I do not know what connection you 
can have had even with my family.” 

Miss Underwood laughed in her mirthless fashion 
again. 

“No, I s’pose noty'* she said shortly, “but the Under- 
w^oods aint always been so poor as now, let me tell you ! 
Well, as 3^oii’ve come to hear it. I’ll tell the story — and 
I guess when you know the truth ^^ou’Il say it’s worth 
sharing what you may have with Lydia 

Ruth had mechanically seated herself and waited while 
Miss Underwood put the latch down on the front door, and 
until she was seated opposite, with as much patience as 
possible, but her pulses were throbbing — her eyes loould 
turn now and then toward those of the portrait, which 
seemed to be smiling sadly upon her, while Miss Under- 
wood told the story. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


“ It’s many a year ago,” began the woman, when rtiy 
father, and yours^ and old Hargrave, John’s father, all went 
into the same speculation. I can’t tell you clearly just 
what it was, but I’ve come upon a pile of papers any 
smart lawyer ’d understand. They was hid away in an old 
trunk. It had to do with mines and stocks. I know all 
that from father, and of course ma and I always knew that 
somehow Hargrave made 2^ fortune and cheated the others 
out of everything ! It just killed pa. He was never no 
good — scarce moved or spoke after Hargrave’s treachery 
came to light, and mother — it seems she was half afraid pa 
might hev’ unbeknownst to her been led into some crooked 
dealings, though Zknow better, an’ so she never dared open 
her mouth or stir the business up when he died. Anyway 
he’s a-past harmin’ noio and what I mean is to get my 
rights from John Hargrave, and that ’ll be gettin’ you 
yours as well, for don’t you see, old man Hargrave cheated 
them hoth alike — your pa ’n’ mine. I’ve talked the matter 
over, no names mentioned — with a spry young law^^er near 
here, and he advises to tackle John Hargrave first, and see 
what he’ll do on a compromise. It aint likely he’ll want 
to shame his father as is in his buried grave.” 

To express Ruth’s feelings as she listened to Miss Under- 
woods remarkable statement is beyond my power. Fore- 
most in her mind was the thought of Hargrave, at this 
time of trial, being compelled to know of such a cruel 
complication in his father’s past. How could she allow 
such intelligence to be carried to his darkened room? 


183 


184 


RUTH ENDICOTT^ 8 WAY, 


No — anything but that. Ruth felt for a few moments too 
dazed and bewildered to speak. Then came remembrance 
of Mr. Pearson, and she decided it would be best to let 
him know frankly all that this woman and her mother 
might have it in their power to do. He, as a lawyer, 
could sift the true from the false in any statement she 
might make, could insist upon proofs, perhaps persuade 
her to wait until the final result of the operation could be 
known. 

Miss Underwood watched her visitor narrowly while all 
these perplexing thoughts were going through the young 
girl’s mind ; coarse as the fibres of her own nature were, 
she had perception enough to realize that the high-bred- 
looking girl befoi'e her was incapable of deceit, and 
would resent anything like treachery in business matters. 
What she had no idea of in any toay^ was that Ruth’s 
whole mind revolted from a thought that her father could 
have done an^Thing dishonorable; of what calibre the 
elder Hargrave was made, she could only judge by the 
light of his son’s fine nature. Finally, there was a cer- 
tainty in her mind that, if wrong-doing existed anywhere 
in the past, it must have been that her father, as well as 
John Hargrave’s, had been duped. 

Suddenly Miss Underwood recalled her to the present 
by the mention of a detested name. 

“That man Merritt,” said Lydia, “ought to be told 
something of all this. He w’ould be one to put things in 
motion, I promise you, unless he’s mighty changed of late.” ^ 
Merritt!^^ exclaimed Ruth, in horror. “Why on earth 
should you bring him into any question of the kind ? ” 

“Because he or someone belonging to him ought to 
know where some of the people involved in those old 
transactions are to be found; Merritt’s name is mentioned 


nUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


185 


in some of the letters I was speaking of. I judge he or 
one of his name helped on the sales in this speculation. 
Old Hargrave died without a will and so his son came into 
everything, I suppose, as his only heir.” 

Ruth glanced at the clock. More than an hour had 
gone by. She was intensely anxious now to be on her 
way home, to learn what had transpired in her absence 
and consult as soon as possible with Mr. Pearson; but 
there must be some arrangement or understanding, first, 
with this woman. To leave her undecided would not be 
safe. 

“I will make one arrangement with you, Miss Under- 
wood,” said Ruth at last, and rising to leave; “all I can 
do at present. Mr. Hargrave must for a time be spared all 
anxiety, but if you agree to take no steps wdiatever for 
two weeks, I will urge Mr. Pearson to pay you for any 
information you may have to give. You need not fear to 
trust to Mr. Hargrave’s doing whatever is right by all 
concerned. A shock now might mean blindness forever, 
and how would you feel to know you were the cause of 
lifelong misery? You must have some feeling or belief in 
God about you.” 

Lydia’s face paled for half a moment. She had the 
fear of the Lord’s wrath common to merely superstitious 
minds. It was true that a creed w’as not part of her 
scheme in life, but feared death, and what might lie 
beyond for the evil doers. Her mother was bound hand 
and foot, so to speak, heart and mouth to a certain 
denomination, more or less sensational in their devotions. 
Well did Lydia know that under this rule Mrs. Under- 
wood could not countenance dishonesty of any kind. 
The fervor of her new belief had not worn away. She 
was yet in an exalted condition which made her sure of . 


18G 


BUTE ENDlCOTrS WAY. 


her own salvation, yet eager to mortify the flesh. It had 
been what all the “sisters” and “brothers” in the little 
fold considered a wonderful “conversion,” and there was 
added to her enjoyment of the new faith, a pride in living 
lip to the highest standard it required. When she 
learned Ruth’s errand she might frustrate all of her 
daughter’s plans, so that Miss Underwood decided it would 
be wisest on all accounts to yield to Ruth’s suggestions. 

“Very well. Two weeks did you say?” she remarked, 
with her eyes fixed upon Ruth’s face. “Now, mind I 
won’t wait a bit longer. I’m willing to give in so far, 
but no further. And don’t you break your w'ord. Miss 
Endicott, or you will make me do my very worst.” 

never break my word,” answered Ruth, with a proud 
lifting of her head. Once more came the longing to make 
this woman aware of what tradition and early influence 
could mean, but she let it pass. Discussion was useless; 
only when she was out on the little road again, making all 
haste to the station, it occurred to her that a written 
promise from the wily Lydia would have been more bind- 
ing; but, if necessary, Mr. Pearson could request that, and 
to be home now again seemed most important. Once on 
the train, her thoughts were all of Hargrave and how she 
should find his day had passed, but, I suspect, had she 
known how Miss Underwood was employing the same hour, 
Ruth’s anxiety would have known no bounds. 

Left alone. Miss Underwood paced the floor in anxious 
thought, reflecting that during her mother’s absence only 
could she be sure of taking any steps in this matter on 
her own account, and she decided that to consult Merritt 
could do no harm; his counsels could hardly fail to be of 
use in this really critical emergency. But she dared not 
have him call upon her. She could write him a line and 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


187 


appoint an early meeting in New York, saying frankly 
that she feared her mother would interfere with her, were 
she to let her know what she wished to do. Letter-writ- 
ing was a slow process, but Lydia accomplished a brief note 
and had time to put it in the post-office herself before Mrs. 
Underwood came in from her afternoon’s meeting, too 
tired to ask questions or do more than urge her daughter 
to "hurry up the tea.” Lydia, delighted with her own 
"foresight,” went most cheerfully to work and had the 
kettle boiling in a short time, meanwhile observing to her 
mother that she’d take some of her work into town the 
next day and probably not be home until a late train. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


I THINK my readers can readily understand wbat effect 
Lydia Underwood’s letter produced on the Merritts’ 
household. Needless to say, the voluble head of the house 
could not keep the contents of the epistle to himself. An 
audience being necessary, he had to produce it in his own 
family, and he talked for nearly an hour, reminding every 
one over and over again that if their young relation did come 
into property she could thank him for being the means of 
obtaining it. One link in the chain of evidence might be 
wanting, and this Mr; Merritt was nearly sure a certain 
man he had not seen for years could produce. 

‘‘Old Wilbur, you know, Sammy,” concluded Mr. Mer- 
ritt, turning to his second son. 

Samuel laughed aloud. 

“ That old duffer, pop?” he exclaimed. “Do you know 
what he does? Why he just cares ior flowers^ and nothing 
else. I remember the last time I had to go and see him. 
We wanted him to press a claim, and I swear I couldn’t 
get the old fellow interested in anything outside of his 
greenhouses! No, sir! He said he was raising some valu- 
able specimens, and he wasn’t going to risk them attending 
to anything else. I declare I actually don’t believe he 
took in the sense of anything I said, and we needed him, 
we couldn’t get the other chap’s money without him. No, 
sir, I came away disgusted.” 

“But all the same,” persisted Mr. Merritt, “he’ll have 

to give us the information we need, if we insist. I know 

188 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


189 


he was once a bosom friend of Endicott’s. Two of a kind, 
I guess; dreamy and improvident. /’/Hackle him. I’m 
going to see tliis woman Underwood to-morrow, and you’d 
better believe I’ll get out of her all she knows. Why, even 
that man Powers ought to know something of the old 
story. Never mind, never you mind! Til ferret it out 
this time, and remember in the days to come your old 
uncle Peter 'won’t be despised. NotmwcA.-'” Mr. Mer- 
ritt’s voice the next day was actually heard in the very 
attic the moment he was within his own doorway. He 
proclaimed his success so loudly that everyone rushed to 
hear details, and he made haste to explain that “any 
minute” Miss Underwood might appear on the scene. 
He had left her on the distinct understanding she was to 
spend the night in his house. 

“All plain sailing,” he declared. “Miss Underwood 
and I will go down to Pearson’s office early to-morrow 
and state our claim. She has all the papers. Hargrave 
won’t risk disgrace; and, with his wealth, even a compro- 
mise will be a fortune to our little Huth. Oh, yes! it’s 
clear as pen and ink could make it; but see here, I’m just a 
bit afraid we’ll have trouble with the girl herself. She’s 
got those queer notions from somewhere, about gratitude 
and all that bosh.” 

Peter now broke in, to give liis opinion that Huth should 
know nothing of it until Hargrave had been told the 
truth. 

“Then she caiiH hurt our little game, see?” said the 
astute Peter. “No telling what a girl like that would be 
up to! There goes the bell. Now for the fair Lydia! 
By Jove, it’s as good as a play! What’s the use of paying 
for the theatre when you have it all at home.” 

Mr. Merritt himself opened the door, ushering Miss 


190 


RUTH ENDICOTT^ 8 WAY. 


Underwood quite majestically down to the basement, and 
by a warning glance cautioning the family to be on their 
best behavior. Lucilla with her most impressive manner 
flew to relieve their guest of her wraps, Katie was “tele- 
graphed” to by the maternal eye, and very soon was up- 
stairs seeing that Mrs. Chesley^s old room was made ready 
for the guest, while that boon to improvident households, 
the “Delicatessen” man, was called upon to provide a 
suitable early tea. 

Miss Underwood’s own sense of importance had in- 
creased by this time. She was quite sure there was “more 
in it” than seemed to be on the surface, but time would 
tell. She realized her own need of masculine advice and 
support in such a time, and feared to “go against” Mer- 
ritt’s advice in any way, but she would, she must be 
prudent. There seemed a fortune within her grasp, and 
she was determined not to lose it by any carelessness on 
her own part. She surveyed herself critically in the small 
mirror which had so often reflected Mrs. Chesley’s tired 
face, and hoped the Merritt family would not consider her 
in any way countrified. Tucked away very carefully in 
the little attic at home, Lydia had twenty-five dollars 

unJcnownst^'* to her mother, and she regretted now not 
having brought it with her to spend the next day on some 
personal adornment. No matter — these minor matters 
would arrange themselves very soon. By the time her 
“toilet” was completed Lydia was ready for Katie’s tap 
at the door, with a very glowing vision in her mind of 
all that the future had in store for her. Some floating 
thought of relieving Ruth Endicott’s necessities had oc- 
curred to her, and, as she descended the stairs, she decided 
it might be well to be generous, not lavish — of course, oh, 
no — but still to do enough to relieve the poor thing from 


RUTH ENDIGOTT' 8 WAT, 


191 


actual beggary. Ruth in such a case might even prove of 
use tc her! 

‘‘Now then,” Mr. Merritt was ready to say directly the 
dining-room door opened upon Miss Underwood and 
Katie. “Here we are, ma’am; plain and hearty, just as 
you see us. Take that seat, if you please, near me. I’m 
carver, and I’ll not see your plate empty. Cut and come 
again; that’s my style.” 

A general introduction to the members of the family 
she had not seen was hurried through with, and a glance 
exchanged between Mrs. Merritt and the guest which 
annoyed the master of the house. Long accustomed to 
submission as his wife was, he well knew that when she 
did assert herself it was to some purpose, and the very 
expression of her ej^es and tightly closed lips told him that 
she did not like their visitor. As a result he discoursed 
all the more volubly, giving Lydia no time for a reply, it 
is true, but keeping her attention centred in himself. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


Ruth’s hand trembled as she laid it on the bell of Mr. 
Hargrave’s house, but Gregson, who admitted her, showed 
so smiling a countenance that she knew things looked 
hopeful for their master, and he made haste to say the 
doctors hoped for success, and that Mr. Pearson had left 
a little note for her. Ruth read it in the small reception- 
room; it was merely a line desiring her to be at his office, 
if possible, by four o’clock the next day ; and although it 
seemed long to wait, Ruth could only be guided by his 
directions; and a moment later Mrs. Selby, very grave, but 
full of importance in manner, appeared. 

“Well, my dear, are we not fortunate to think dear 
John’s sight may be restored ? But do you know,” she 
said in a stage whisper, “the doctors say he must take 
a trip abroad at once. They want him to go to some 
special German baths and see some great oculist there. 
But I mustn’t forget. He has asked for you, and wants 
to see you or, rather, hear^oxx to-morrow. Will you come 
in the forenoon?” 

“ Certainly — oh, I am so glad we may hope, Mrs. Selby !” 
exclaimed Ruth, almost tearfully. If only Hargrave’s 
sight could be restored, matters would seem less complicated 
at once. She delayed no longer, and was really in need 
of repose after such an anxious day; the little “sky parlor” 
seemed more than ever cheering, and Mrs. Chesley’s wel- 
come and little Margaret’s eager embrace made Ruth once 
more thankful for the little home she and her old friend 


192 


nUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


193 


had been able to establish; but there again came a pang, 
remembering how much of it was due to Mr. Hargrave’s 
kindness. Well, come what may, she could Jiever be 
brought to injure him in any fashion, thought Ruth; and 
while her companions were chatting away contentedly, she 
looked forward to the morrow’s meeting with hope and a 
feeling of security, which, 1 fear, would have been some- 
what disturbed had she known the little net being woven 
slowly and securely to defeat her generous plans. 

“Ruth, Ruth!” exclaimed Margaret, in her most re- 
proachful acents. ‘‘Is it only that you’re thinking or 
tired, or are you going to cry?^^ 

Ruth laughed and roused herself. “It’s thinking and 
tired,” she declared. “But I don’t intend to cry, I hope, 
for many a long day to come. However, you young people 
may sit up as long as you like; but I am too sleepy to 
keep awake any longer.” And Ruth, in fact, for all her 
anxiety, found that her head was scarcely on the pillow 
before the friendly “Restorer” came to her relief, and not 
even in dreamland was she disturbed. Daylight, a bath of 
sunshine, awoke her to a quick sense of the day’s impor- 
tance. First the early visit to Mr. Hargrave’s, then the 
interview with Mr. Pearson. 

The day was fine, clear, and with a soft, cool wind; and 
Ruth enjoyed the walk up to her 'employer’s, feeling her 
nervousness dispelled by the influence of so fair a morn- 
ing. It was scarcely half past ten when she was in the 
house receiving Mrs. Selby’s instructions, “to be very 
cheerful with poor John,” and then she found herself once 
more in the master’s library upstairs, his hand in hers, 
with a welcoming pressure which she returned in silence. 

“So you see, little girl,” he said quickly, “the ordeal 
has been gone through and I am told successfully ; but 


194 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


wliat about this European wander, which I’m ordered to 
take at once? How will that affect our work?” 

He spoke lightly, yet there was an odd tremor in his 
voice Ruth had never heard before, and the hand still 
clasping hers tightened its hold on her fingers. He had 
risen from his easy chair. Ruth, for some unaccountable 
reason, felt as if a moment of peculiar importance had 
come, some new crisis was at hand, but she could not 
speak, she waited with quickening heart-beats, and in a 
moment Hargrave reseated himself, leaning his head upon 
his hand, while he went on in slow, deliberate accents. 

“Ruth,” he said very gravely, “what I am about to say 
may sound very strangely, but I believe you to be a girl, 
a 'tooman.^ of unusual force of character, one wdio would 
overlook certain mere conventionalities. The doctors tell 
me this trip abroad must be taken at once. There is no 
time for delay, and so, by the first steamer in which I can 
get good accommodation for Gregson and myself, I will 
start. Meanwhile, I have something to tell you, some- 
thing to ask.” 

“ half whispered Ruth. 

“My child,” he said, wdth his peculiarly bright smile^ 
“can you not guess what has come into my tranquil, but 
darkened life? Love^ Ruth! for you, my child, which I 
never looked to feel or know, and what I want to ask of 
you is this: I/Il return with my ej^esight restored, will 
you be my wife?” 

For a moment the very walls seemed to sway about our 
heroine, so completely startled was she by this revelation! 
But in the next instant its solemnitj^ importance, much 
that it could mean as a solution of the impending difiicult}^ 
rushed across her mind ! But could she, dared she say 
her own feeling was one beyond friendship, interest, 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


195 


sympathy for his lonely lot in life. No! Ruth’s heart 
was free — too free not to be sure that it was in her own 
keeping; and her honesty of nature made it imj^ossible for 
her to deceive either Hargrave or herself. But oh ! if only 
she could answer as he wished, what a blessed ending to 
the questions now to be settled ! Could there be any harm 
in encouraging him so far as to promise during his 
absence to give it careful thought, hoping to do his will; 
then on such a compact she could build another whereby 
he need not resign his fortune for her. He asked her to 
be his wife, believing her to be penniless; a few words 
from her would make all things clear, and Ruth decided 
she could, she ought to speak them! 

‘‘Mr. Hargrave,” she said very quickly, but in ^ low, 
anxious voice, “will you agree to one arrangement? 
Let me consider myself in a way pledged to you during 
your absence: that is, I shall let no other come in your 
place, I shall think it all out, as carefully and calmly as pos- 
sible, and will be as anxious to please you, to give as much 
in return as is offered to me, and perhaps it will prove 
that the” — she smiled a bit wistfully — “odd sort of tender- 
ness I always have had for you may turn out to be as deep 
feeling as true love requires. Remember, I hold and feel 
myself bound to you now.” 

She rested her hand on his shoulder and he drew it down, 
laying his lips reverently upon it, while Ruth, with a 
tremor in her voice, bent to say: 

“Is this our compact then? No one else need know 
cf it.” 

“You are a noble woman!” he exclaimed. Rising, and 
making his way over to the chimney-piece, he rested his 
head on both hands, while Ruth could only wait in silence. 

“Ruth,” he said suddenly, moving the bandage from 


196 


Burn ENDICOTrS WAT, 


his eyes, ‘^though these poor eyes of mine shall not per- 
haps see your face, look at me, my dearest; once without 
this covering I shall seem to feel the glance I cannot see/’ 

Ruth was startled by what she feared was a rash experi- 
ment, but even in the same moment was struck by the 
nobility, the dignity of his face, in which the e3"es did not 
betray their gloom— -on the contrary, a quick light sprang 
into them such as only vision could inspire, and with a 
half cry he put his hand up to shield them from danger, 
exclaiming in a low, hushed tone: 

“ I saw you ! Yes, better than in that last, sweet glimpse 
of your face ! But, it was with a pain ! I must not risk 
anything now !” 

Ruth’s fingers trembled as she replaced the bandage, 
leading him back to his easy chair, relieved when Mrs. 
Selby came into the room, followed by Gregson bearing 
his master’s tray, and reminding him the doctors would 
very soon appear. Within half an hour she was on her 
way home again, walking in a direction which prevented 
her seeing two visitors at Mr. Hargrave’s door a few 
moments later, no others than the important Clinty Powers 
and Mr. Merritt. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


Ruth felt fairly dazed for the first part of her homeward 
walk by what had just occurred. An offer of marriage is 
at all times an era in a woman’s life, since it implies as 
high an honor as lies in any man’s power to confer; and 
to a young, untried, unversed girl like Ruth Endicott, 
to have such a decision to make calls into being every 
brightest, finest, and purest faculty. That a man like 
Hargrave should have chosen her seemed almost incompre- 
hensible at one moment; yet in the next she realized 
that (/*she gave him her heart and life and companionship 
they would be worth much — since with her there could be 
no half-measures in any such surrender. 

What would she not have given at such a moment for 
a mother’s counsel! for the sympathy and guidance none 
other can give so well. A sense of her peculiarly lonely lot 
in life rushed across the poor girl, dimming the brightness 
which had seemed to be about her a few moments since, 
and the remainder of her journey was made without any 
decision, except that she would take no one into her coun- 
sels until she had seen Hargrave again. Devoted though 
she was in every way to Ruth’s best interests and happi- 
ness, yet Mrs. Chesley was not competent to decide in any 
such case, and to know of it would only worry her. Were 
she only near her dear Miss Daintrey, thought Ruth, there 
would be no hesitation about consulting her; but to do so 
by letter was impossible. This was her final reflection as 
she reached home, and on opening the sitting-room door 

107 


198 


B UTH ENDIGOTT WA F. 


was startled as well as annoyed to behold Clinty Powers on 
the hearthrug, his face wreathed in smiles as he stepped 
forward to greet her effusively. 

‘‘Well, you walked and I rode,” he exclaimed. “So 
that’s how I got here first! Now, Miss Endicott,” as 
Ruth was about to remove her hat, “will you kindly leave 
that for I may ask you to take a little trip with me.” 

Ruth could only look her surprise, and Clinton made 
haste to explain his errand : 

“My dear young lady, as things look now, your fortune 
is as good as made ! I don’t want to startle you too much, 
even with good news, but you’ll find your friends haven’t 
been letting grass grow under their feet, and you may 
consider yourself quite an heiress, for Hargrave won’t 
fight. To come to the point, we have discovered he owes 
you away up into the thousands; his father was, it seems, 
deeply indebted to yours. A very smart woman named 
Underwood has all the proofs necessary; she had the sense 
to come to us, and of course we took it right in hand. 
Didn’t stop to do more than consult a lawyer, and then 
went right to Hargrave himself. Oh, weWe all right! 
Don’t you fret, my dear young lady! And now. I’ll have 
to ask you to come uptown at once.” 

“What do you mean?” exclaimed Ruth, feeling fairly 
weak with a sense of dismay over what had just been told 
her. 

Mean /’’ echoed Clinty, really jocose in manner. “I’m 
here by Hargrave’s request to bring you up there at once! 
Oh, he knows it’s all right! Don’t you be afraid we went 
to him without making that^Ai clear. We made him see 
he’s just living on trust money. Maybe if he took to 
fighting us in the open courts we couldn’t prove our claim 
quite so tidy, owing to the lapse of years, etc., etc., but 


BUTII ENDIGOTT'8 WAT. 


199 


would he like to have his dead and gone parent branded 
for dishonesty ? Not much., iny dear, with these tony 
swells; and see, here’s another point. It could be easily 
enough said he offered you the position to wheedle you 
out of any notion you might have got. See? 1 have it all 
down fine, and I feel as good as any criminal lawyer over 
my part in it. Merritt, you may say, is just about crazy 
over the whole thing.” 

Ruth’s marble-like face had not altered once in its ex- 
pression while Clinton Powers rattled on. She had taken 
in every word, feeling stifled, horror-stricken, but nev r 
once did it occur to her to doubt John Hargrave’s integ- 
rity. Rather did she see it now in a nobler, finer light; 
his absolutely fearless faith in her could have come only 
from a clear conscience, from no dread of any discovery 
she could make to alter her trust in him. No, their very 
compact in its limited nature was proof of that, and she 
rose now, trembling, but with new determination and 
quite ready, nay anxious^ to see Hargrave at once. He 
should not find her lacking in either faith or courage! A 
few moments would take her back to his house, and as 
soon as she could see him alone, he would understand 
what she was feeling, and what she had determined to do. 

“Yes,” she said slowly, “I will go up there at once with 
you. It is terrible to think of his having all this business 
anxiety just now! But the best, the 07ily thing I can do 
is to see him myself at once.” 

Clinton arose with a flourish to prove his complete 
acquiescence; and Mrs. Chesley, who had listened to all 
this in an anguished frame of mind, cast an imploring 
look toward Ruth which was readily understood. 

Cousin Jane,” said Ruth, hoping to reassure her 
old companion, “won’t you try and keep cheerful until I 


200 


BUTII ENDICOTT^S WAT, 


come back? Why, I have a wonderful plan in my head for 
oar future! I mean to make our fortunes. Don’t get dis- 
heartened. Who knows but that you can set up your 
own little business again. I shall take pride in seeing you 
independent.” 

Mrs. Chesley brightened at once and bade their guest 
good-by in her most dignified manner, and Ruth felt 
relieved when she was on her way once more uptown. 

In her young life my little heroine had gone through 
many trying experiences, but I question if she had been 
compelled to endure anything more distasteful than Clinty 
Powers’ society on that journey back to Mr. Hargrave’s. 
Self-control, even silence, except on the most unimportant 
topics, she felt necessary, while her dread of what Har- 
grave might be suflPering recurred constantly, lending new 
force to her determination to place his interests and physi- 
cal well-being ahead of all else. 

‘‘Now then!” exclaimed Clinty suddenly, turning to 
his absorbed companion. “Here we are, and just brace 
up, my dear, and remember there’s a fortune waiting for 
you.” 

They were on the doorstep and Ruth turned, facing 
Clinty with an expression which baffled even his self- 
assurance. 

“There is one thing, Mr. Powers,” she said quietly, 
“which you must clearly understand. All of Mr. Har- 
grave’s future may depend on freedom from nervous 
worry or excitement now. When we go in I shall see 
him by myself alone, and find out whether all this com- 
plication has unnerved him.” 

For once Clinty was silenced, and before he had time 
to frame a suitable answer Gregson opened the door, 
with a look of the greatest relief on seeing Ruth. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


‘^Master will be so pleased, miss,” he half murmured. 
“Will you kindly wait, sir, in the reception-room while 
I take Miss Endicott upstairs?” 

Clinty could but obey. Gregson ushered him into the 
small sitting-room, and politely led the w’ay for Ruth up 
into Hargrave’s library, and withdrew. 

One glance at his face showed her by its waiting^ 
anxious expression that he was suffering deeply. He 
moved forward, held out his hand, said, “You have come, 
Ruth,” in a low, constrained voice, the tone of which 
nearly destroyed all her forced composure. 

“ Come!^'* she exclaimed. “Did you think I would or 
could stay away ? Do you know,” she went on hurriedly, 
“I have seldom suffered more than in the journey up here. 
I was so afraid you might be induced to do something 
rash before I could be with you, and now” — she knelt 
down beside his chair, holding both his hands tightly 
clasped in hers — “I forbid yow to speak until you have 
heard what I have to say. Absolutely, utterly, and 
entirely I refuse to touch one cent of your money, except 
on my own terms. Do 3’ou hear me?” 

“Ruth !” he exclaimed, ‘‘hear you ! My child, of course 
I do.” 

“Well then,” she continued, trying to laugh, “it’s 
rather hard to remind you that you offered me your hand 
and heart and that I was to take time to consider it; but 
what I want to say now is that I’ve had all the time I 


201 


202 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


need. Will you let me make you a promise? I consider 
myself engaged to you, sir, and I mean to insist upon my 
privileges! Clinty Powers came to me wdtli a most extra- 
ordinary tale, only part of which I believe. He said I 
w’as to come here at once, that” — her brave young voice 
faltered for an instant — ‘‘you were in some fashion in my 
debt! Why, how ca?^ you be, if — if — I belong to you?” 

It was well for the sweet girlish shame which overcame 
her that Hargrave could not see Ruth’s face. She felt the 
blood dye it crimson while she waited for him to speak. 

“Ruth,” he said slowly, “do you mean me to under- 
stand that you will be my wife when I come home, even 
though I cannot see again !” 

“If you will have me,” said Ruth, in so low a tone that 
he could scarcely hear her. “But, remember, I have my 
bargain yet to make. You can arrange that I have what- 
ever income I need out of your own, in fact, provide for 
me; but once and for all, except on these terms, I distinctly 
refuse to receive one farthing.” 

“And,” he spoke in a low, almost incredulous tone, “I 
am to go away; leave you on that understanding.” 

“Why not?” exclaimed Ruth. “Surely theie can be no 
shame in our letting all those tiresome people know we 
are engaged, and you have to go abroad for your eyes. 
Then, Mr. Pearson, I suppose, can arrange all the money 
part of it.” 

He laughed! But it was a happy laugh, and Ruth knew 
she had conquered. She drew a little nearer to him. 

“Are we to quarrel, the thing?” she whispered. 
“That is not my idea of, well — being engaged.” 

“Ruth,” he said tenderly, “you have conquered now, as 
I see you will always, my child. But, remember, Pearson 
has been sent for; very soon there will be a conclave 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY, 


203 


downstairs to protect your interests. Can you mate it 
clear to them all that no influence but that of honest 
love for you has been employed. For, remember, you do 
not know the world as I do. High-mindedness like 3^ours 
is seldom understood ; unfortunately is generally unappreci- 
ated.” She waved away such an idea, hut he went on, 
“And they must learn that I insist above all things on 
protecting your rights. No one now has better authority 
for so doing.” 

Gregson’s knock sounded. lie came in quickly, followed 
by Mr. Pearson, who with a glance shrewd, kindly, and a 
bit quizzical in Ruth’s direction, informed his client the 
oddly assorted party were assembled below, and all seemed 
very anxious to take care of Miss Endicott’s affairs. 

“Precisely what she and I have been doing, Pearson,” 
said Mr. Hargrave very gravely. “You are my oldest 
friend, you will be the first to wish me joy. Miss Endicott 
promises to be my wife ; and on these terms I can best 
protect her during my absence.” 

“Good!” exclaimed the lawyer, “allow me to congratu- 
late you both! Dear me, dear me! Hargrave, nothing 
could please me better! And what a blow for that long- 
winded Merritt and his son! I declare it’s worth more to 
me than I can say to have this bombshell for their camp. 
Do let us make it known at once.” 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


It was certainly an unexpected termination to all of 
Merritt’s well-laid plans, nor were Lydia’s discomfiture and 
Clinty’s mortification any less; but for the tired-looking 
Miss Underwood Ruth felt genuine compassion, and deter- 
mined something should be done to make life easier and 
brighter than it seemed in the forlorn cottage at High- 
bridge. I am not prepared to say by quite what means 
Mr. Pearson contrived to make all the contending parties 
see it would be useless to oppose Miss Endicott’s decision, 
but this they were at last forced to admit, and agreed to 
disperse, meeting for a final settlement at the lawyer’s office 
the following afternoon. 

Ruth clung anxiously to Mrs. Selby while the leave-tak- 
ings went on; she could not bring herself to more than 
merest civility, scarcely hearing Mr. Merritt’s pompous 
offers of friendship, hospitality, etc., etc.,' and certainly 
making no response to them which he could consider 
encouraging. If he went away inwardly raging, he had 
half an hour’s walk in which tQ compose a suitable oration 
for the family tea-table that night; and, as he had not 
failed to observe Ruth’s gentleness of manner toward 
poor Lydia, he bestowed 4 little more attention upon her 
than he had intended to sliow, now that her pretensions 
seemed to have lost their money value. Impossible to say 
just what might yet come of the kindness or bounty of 
such a very quixotic young person as Ruth Endicott seemed 
to be ; and it could do no harm to keep on the right side of 
Lydia, for a time at least. 


204 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAT. 


205 


As for our heroine, it would be difficult to say /list wffiat 
her frame of mind was, when, the rest of the company 
gone, she prepared to take leave of Mr. Hargrave and re- 
turn to her anxiously waiting companions at home. Mrs. 
Selby showed unusual discretion by helping them both to 
make the good-by commonplace ; and knowing, as did Ruth, 
that he must have no more excitement, hovered about, 
chatting on ordinary topics and remarking that she was 
quite sure Ruth and she would be glad, when all this “red 
tape” was over, to settle down to every-day life again. 

“We’ll have to hurry up the European trip,” she 
observed, in saying good-by to Ruth; “for I am afraid 
poor John is not feeling so well as he seems. The sooner 
he sails, the sooner home again.” 

Impossible for my pen to do justice to the effect of 
Ruth’s story on her companions at home. Mrs. Chesley 
could only give vent to her feelings by interjections during 
the recital and the shedding of a few tears. Margaret’s 
innate shrewdness was roused to a prompt calculation of 
all it might mean of actual money, display — luxury in 
general — to her beloved Ruth; but at last our heroine 
escaped to the quiet of her little room. There, in the soft 
summer darkness, she sat at her window; thinking, some- 
times praying, always remembering that, come what 
might, Hargrave was to be her first consideration. How 
would this news be taken by Robert, she wondered; how 
would she, perhaps, be able to help on his career. Yes, 
in Hargrave’s absence she would have a stewardship at 
once important and yet congenial. It should not be said 
that the money, changing hands, forsook its old channels 
of generosity and good use. 


CHAPTER XXXIL 


Miss Daintrey touched the bell in her own sanctum 
one morning, a few days after the events in our last 
chapter, a smile half of amusement, half of the complete 
satisfaction we feel in seeing the good result of our advice, 
curving her lips, twinkling in her clear blue-gray eye. 
Not often had the good woman such pleasant news to dis- 
cuss with her colaborer and assistant. Miss Fellowes; and, 
as she reflected, it really quite repaid them for shortening 
their holiday and coming home to superintend some reno- 
vations in the old house. 

‘‘Ask Miss Fellowes if she will kindly come here as soon 
as possible,” was Miss Daintrey’s request to the tidy little 
maidservant who appeared, and even Katie went away 
convinced the mistress had “heard something to put her in 
great good humor.” 

“She most laughed out when she was speaking,” the 
housemaid confided to the “boy of all work,” who was 
whitewashing the kitchen. “I guess she’s heard some 
good news in those letters.” 

“New pupils, like as not, as pay for all extras,” said the 
sophisticated Jonas. 

‘^JVbw, Harriet Fellowes,” Miss Daintrey was saying at 
the same time, “just read this letter, and tell me what 
you think! Oh, my dear! did we not say rightly that 
child was one in a thousand!” 

Miss Fellowes, slightly mystified, took the sheets 


2C6 


RUTH ENBIGOTTS WAY, 


207 


of paper extended to her, glancing at the signature 
first, 

‘‘Your loving child, 

“ Ruth,” 

which completely broke down her reserve, and she read on 
aloud, uttering little exclamations of delight, approbation 
— even wonder. But the letter which caused all this happy 
tumult with Ruth’s old friends may best be given in full: 

“New York, October 9. 

“ My Dear, Dear Miss Daintrey : 

“Such surprising things have happened I scarcely know 
how to detail them to you, much less really to make you, I 
may say, believe them, any more than 1 could just at first, 
but now I know, wonderful as it all is, it is quite true. 
It seems my father had some old business arrangements 
with Mr. Hargrave’s, in which they entered into some large 
speculations. Well, you know how papa seemed to be — 
dreamy from all I remember, and possibly Mr. Hargrave, 
Sr., was the same. At all events it turns out now, through 
finding some papers in the possession of a Miss Under- 
wood, as well as from the testimony of some others, that 
Mr. Hargrave really died very much in my father’s debt. 
I don’t know how many thousands, but a great, great deal. 
It is so long ago that, perhaps, nothing could have been 
done about it had not Mr. John Hargrave, my employer, 
insisted upon having it all ferreted out and looked into 
when there was the first suspicion of it. The Merritts and 
Mr. Clinton Powers got wind of it; and do, or say, what I 
would, I was forced,, dear Miss Daintrey, into letting what 
they call my rights be proven. But meanwhile poor Mr. 
Hargrave has had to decide upon a foreign trip, hoping to 
recover his sight, and he has done me the wonderful honor 


208 


BUTH ENDIGOTr 8 WAY. 


of asking me to be his wife, before he knew one word of 
anything I could claim from him! I can’t tell you how I 
felt when he,^such a grand person, cared enough for me to 
make me such an offer. It nearly frightened me; only I 
knew that if I could care for him with all my heart, and be 
his good wife and companion in his ‘darkness,’ as he calls 
it, I was worth the honor, whether I were rich or poor — 
and now the arrangement made is this — no matter how hard 
they have tried — the Merritts and those people — to talk 
me into their way of thinking, I made my own terms. Mr. 
Hargrave is to go abroad on this important journey; mak- 
ing me out of the estate an allowance which will to me 
be riches.^ and I am to have my own home where I choose; 
some nice little house, which can be kept up charmingly 
with Mrs. Selby as chaperon and cicerone general, and 
the old famil}’’ mansion can be all gone over and reno- 
vated in his absence, two of the old servants remaining in 
charge. Isn’t this just angelic! except for its seeming a 
dream or a fairy tale, I could laugh and dance with delight, 
thinking now all my many schemes may be carried out. 
I’ve two to talk over with you and dearest Miss Fellowes, 
if only we can arrange to meet. Couldn’t you possibly 
take a flying trip, even, down here and see and hear every- 
thing? Mr. Hargrave must imperatively sail next 
Wednesday. The doctors insist on his getting away at 
once, if for nothing else than to be free from all excite- 
ment, such as may injure the chances of his recovering 
his sight, and so we are all trying to make things as quiet 
and easy as we can. My old friend Mrs. Chesley looks as 
though a new lease of life had come to her, and as for 
Niggle! — well, wait until you or Miss Fellowes see her! 
Eva Siebel appeared the other day, wishing very much to 
see me, but, as it happened, I was not at home. Now do 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WxiT. 


209 


write at once. If one or both of yon will come and advise 
your child^ she will be only too happy, and of course you 
will be our guests. How proud we shall be! Only tele- 
graph day and train. I feel so much in need of your 
sympathy and suggestion and advice. Never has my 
loneliness in the way of family ties seemed more painful. 

‘‘Your loving child, 

“Ruth.” 

When the letter had been read to the close, Ruth’s two 
friends exchanged a solemn, silent glance. 

“Well then,” began Miss Fellowes. She said no more, 
but folded her thin hands calmly together. 

“One of us, of course, must go,” said Miss Daintrey, 
■with decision, “and as it is obvious I cannot leave just 
now, for a day or two any way, you start off, Harriet, and 
send word if I am needed. Nonsense!” as a flush 
mounted Miss Fellowes’ finej delicate face. “You are even 
more capable than I am; you have twice the kind of tact 
she needs just now. She’ll have an abundance of business 
advice, she only wants to be ‘stayed and consoled,’ and it 
will do you good; you’ve been in one groove quite long 
enough.” 

So it was decided, and within an hour a telegram to 
Ruth had been despatched, and Miss Fellowes was making 
active preparations for the journey. Befoi*e she was well 
on her way, she was full of pleasurable excitement in the 
prospect ahead of meeting both of her “children,” as she 
called Ruth and little Margaret, and dull indeed would 
have been the soul, heart, or mind of any woman not 
roused by the tinge of romance cast over Ruth’s present 
fortunes. Miss Fellowes could but speculate, imagine, 
build some airy castles of her own, and wonder what 


210 


RUTH ENDIGOTT'S WAY, 


Riitli’s ^^two schemes*'* might be. Something sure to be of 
benefit to someone. The desire to promote the well-being 
of those around her was part and parcel of the girl’s nature ; 
but prosperity had its drawbacks, reflected the high- 
minded, earnest woman, as well as adversity, and there was 
danger u\ power. This Mr. Hargrave, fine as he seemed 
to be, evidently considered Ruth perfection. His present 
difficulty would make him more than ever dependent, even, 
upon Ruth’s judgment and affection; yet it was evident 
that he had keen perception, was high-minded and deter- 
mined. Miss Fellowes could but sum up her reflections 
by a smiling and comfortable assurance that “all was 
well,” and well she knew the foundation, the bulwark of 
Ruth’s strength and capacity for doing well. Undemon- 
strative where questions of religion were concerned; never 
given to anything like outward show; no girl in all that 
school, during Ruth Endicott’s time, had guided her course 
more surely by one rule and law alone. Her Christianity 
was of the highest type, based on unswerving faith,, on 
truest principles, and this alone. Miss Fellowes reflected, 
would keep her, in stormy waters, sure of her course, 
secure against every quicksand; since, in spile of her 
ardent nature, nothing could be begun or ended Avithout 
saying, “Is this right?** “Have I done as He Avould wish?” 
and with every prayer for a gift, a grace, or a blessing 
would be the prefix, “If it be Thy will.” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


Ruth was at the station eagerly awaiting her friend, 
and at once Miss Fellowes recognized an indefinable 
change in her petted, beloved pupil. But it was decidedly 
a becoming one. The tall, fair girl in quiet garb of black, 
with slight touches of jet to relieve its sorabreness, had a 
dignity which was very charming, since it was the out- 
come of her well-carried responsibilities and thought of 
others, and there was no soft girlishness lacking — rather 
was this Ruth slighter, fairer, more gentle-looking in 
spite of the deeper intelligence in her dark eyes, the 
slight air of command in her ways, which was simple, 
natural, and free from the least ostentation. 

“Yes, it is our own Ruth!” Miss Fellowes reflected, 
WMth a little nod of her head, while Ruth was giving 
Martin, Mr. Hargrave’s coachman, certain directions, and 
then seeing that her friend’s small belongings were well 
bestowed in the coupe. 

“You are to come first, my dear, dear Miss Harriet,” 
said Ruth, as they whirled awa^^ “down to my little home. 
Mrs. Selby is expecting you later, of course, up there, but 
you are to see my own nest of a place first. Do you 
know, in spite of all they are discussing for me in the 
way of luxury and so on, I shall miss that little home, so 
much so I am glad Mrs. Chesley wishes to keeq) it for ” 

“ One of the schemes ? ” 

Ruth laughed and nodded. 

“Precisely, and our landlady can give her the floor 
below, if needed.” 


211 


212 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY. 


‘‘My dear! this sounds imposing. Does she intend to 
take lodgers, or keep a school, or what?” 

Ruth looked quizzically at her companion. 

“She is to resume her old business, making all kinds of 
dainty lingerie; and you see it may grow into something 
like a school of work for young girls. Oh, Harriet!” 
exclaimed Ruth, relapsing into the form of address she had 
used alone with her teacher, though not considered dignified 
enough for the schoolroom, “when I think how, hut for 
Mr. Hargrave, I might have been left to those dreadful 
Merritts to earn my living I cannot but be anxious to help 
other girls to earn their daily bread, for my schooling had 
not taught me enough to do more than be a half-paid 
governess, let me tell you, when my acquirements were 
gone over. My only chance was as a secretary, and how 
few people need one !” 

“Scheme No. 2?” enquired Miss Fellowes, smiling. 

“Oh, thafs yet to be developed,” laughed Ruth. ‘‘By 
the way, there’s a very fine young man to be interested in it, 
that is, if he only will, — Robert Hargrave, John’s cousin. 
He and his father, I fancy, are not of the ‘rich’ side of 
the house, but they have the fine traits^ all the same. 
Now, dearest, here we are.” 

A pleasant half hour followed, but all the time Miss 
Fellowes was aware that Ruth’s quiet, happy-sounding 
chatter concealed a current of anxious thought. Mr. Har- 
grave’s name had been seldom mentioned, but when Mrs. 
Chesley and the visitor had exchanged the usual courtesies 
of new acquaintance and begun to speak of the future, 
quite cheerfully and at their ease, Margaret Powers trium- 
phantly “showing off” her position as Ruth’s friend and 
ally, as well as Miss Fellowes’ pupil, Ruth felt she could 
leave the trio for a time while she let Mrs. Selby know of 


RUTH ENDIGOTrS WAY, 


213 


Miss Fellowes’ arrival, etc., etc. A room was easily ob- 
tained for the welcome guest from their landlady, who was 
much interested in all that she had heard from Mrs. Chesley 
as well as from little Margaret of Miss Endicott’s new 
fortune and then Ruth made haste to acquaint Mr. Hargrave 
with all that had taken place. Everything had been easily 
arranged with a view to his comfort and quiet departure. 
So much can money do toward oiling the wheels of that 
machinery needed in our daily progress, that there was not 
even any air of excitement throughout the house itself. 
Ruth, as she made her way to the master’s library — or, I 
had better say, living room, thought it never had seemed 
quieter, better ordered ; even her entrance into the now 
dearly familiar room affected Hargrave only with pleasur- 
able emotion, and Ruth saw at once that he was hopeful 
and content. 

You are there, Ruth ? ” he spoke cheerily, as the young 
girl drew near. Now then, all our plans, I believe, are 
in working order. I am leaving in a happy frame of 
mind.” 

‘‘This is a comfort,” exclaimed Ruth. “And as for 
myself, what can I do or say to show all that I feel ? ” 

“ Nothing now, my dear child, but you can write me 
volumes. There will be plenty to tell me about the new 
home you are to start. Mrs. Selb}^, by the way, is in a 
most exalted frame of mind over it, and there will be this 
house for you to look after once in a while, even though 
Norman and his wife are to remain in charge. 

A half hour was given to discussion as to Ruth’s general 
mode of life in Hargrave’s absence. She and Mrs. Selby 
were to start housekeeping together in some pleasant 
apartment. Mrs. Chesley would resume her old business 
of the “ Lingerie ” trade at Mrs. Renfrew’s. Miss Fellowes 


214 


RUTH ENDIGOTTS WAY. 


was to remain to see tilings started, and no doubt could 
be easily persuaded to take trips back and forth during Mr. 
Hargrave’s absence. But for the trial of temporary sepa- 
ration, the suspense as to the final result of the journey, 
neither Hargrave nor Ruth could have found anything but 
happiness in their talk, lingered over that afternoon. Last 
arrangements, plans, discussions of every detail were 
entered into. The next day, ‘‘ the lasty^ Ruth somewhat 
tearfully called it, she and Miss Fellowes, and even Mrs. 
Chesley were to dine at Mr. Hargrave’s invitation with 
Mrs. Selby and Margaret. 

In every word, in every look of Hargrave, there was 
the utmost delicacy. He was, it would seem, only the 

guardian” — not the lover — apparently anxious to secure 
every formality which would ensure her complete inde- 
pendence, and their leave-taking — for Ruth felt, though 
she would see him on the morrow, this was really the good- 
by — moved the girl profoundly, from something so solemn 
ill it that every word seemed as a distinctly uttered 
pledge. 

The room was lighted as usual by the glow of the 
candles, each side of the mantel, and Ruth found her 
guardian slowly pacing back and forth, but ready enough 
to stand still in his accustomed place, at once banishing 
her gloom by telling her how happy, how much more at 
rest he felt. While allowing her every freedom in the 
exercise of her “ charities,” as he called some of the 

schemes ” she had suggested to him, revealing, as he 
talked his keen sympathy and appreciation of the higher 
needs and uses of life, there was one point upon which 
he was decided, and which he said he must make clear. 
Ruth was to see as much of the world ” — of society ” — 
in a quiet way as was possible during his absence. She 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


215 


divined his motive ; one more evidence of his unselfish 
thought of her. 

‘‘ You will be sought out, I am sure, my child,” he went 
on, ‘‘ by old friends of your father’s, as well as some of 
mine. The Tulgraves and the Derbys I have already 
notified that you are in New York, my ward elect. I do 
not wish to feel 3^011 are shut out from young companion- 
ship.” 

“ How old 3^011?” exclaimed Ruth. To listen to 
3^011 sometimes one would fancy you were sixt3\” 

He laughed. 

“In many a long year I have not felt so young,” he an- 
swered. As a matter of fact, I am thirty-seven, quite old 
enougli, you see, to be your mentor, 3^oung woman.” 

“ Guide, philosopher, and friend,” answered Ruth. 
“ How does that sound ? ” 

“ Well enough until I can claim the other right as well, 
when I have said until death do us part,^'* 

Ruth’s uplifted glance to Hargrave was grave and 
earnest now. 

Moved to speak of the one topic which, for some reason, 
they liad not touched upon, she said gently : 

“ May I — surely now I can ask you one question ? ” 

“ Fift3q my child ; anxj number.” 

He held her hand closely in both of his. 

“ Then — owv faith — is it the same ? Do you believe with 
me ? ” 

There was a brief silence. Then, with a solemnity 
which Ruth never could forget, Hargrave answered : 

“Ruth, I believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and that 
through Him, by Him, and from Him we have all that is 
life here, all that is to be life eternal.” 

“ God keep it so ! ” exclaimed Ruth eagerh", tears dim- 


216 


BUTE EEBIGOTTB WAY, 


ming the sweet eyes raised to his face. “ Oh, my friend ! 
I know that I can yet do something to prove myself worthy, 
and now — yes — this must be our good-by, to-morrow all 
will be confusion ; but even then — and when we are apart, 
we can be thinking together.” 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


It was perhaps as well for all parties that the next clay 
had distractions apart from the sense of leave-taking, since 
there was no chance of being melancholy with the cosey 
little dinner party in prospect. Ruth, after a most con- 
fidential chat with Mrs. Selb}^, was driven back to her own 
tiny home, where she discovered Miss Fellowes with a face 
of almost severity, “trj^ing on” various small ornaments 
and furbelows before Ruth’s mirror, Margaret in de- 
lighted attendance, while Mrs. Chesley, in view of what 
seemed to her actual dissipation, had retired to take a 
little sleep. 

Ruth’s carelessness regarding all these details fairly 
shocked them, but she allowed them to have their own 
way, mainly anxious for the hour before dinner, and the 
meeting with Mr. Hargrave, when she would show Miss 
Fellowes some of the interesting things in the old house. 
Margaret would know where to conduct Mrs. Chesley. 
Ruth intended to have her dear Harriet alone for a con- 
genial inspection of what would interest them both, and 
it was hard to make her attentive enough to her own 
toilet; Margaret was obliged to rush at her with a 
reminder that Mr. Pearson and possibly Robert Hargrave 
would be there, and “did she want to look altogether moon- 
struck?” This brought Ruth to a consideration of what 
was due her host, and she put on her gown of black grena- 
dine with its touches of dull jet, having allowed Margaret, 
who had always liked the opportunity, to perform the 


218 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY. 


ceremony called doing^'^ her hair; which she did grace- 
fully and well. Ruth looked just as she should to please 
one of Mr. Hargrave’s fine taste — if he could have seen her — 
perfectly dainty, quiet, yet charming, and her happiness 
over what might be in store for all she loved and many 
who would need her, lent her face a sparkle and glow, a 
charm, which were due to no personal satisfaction, no 
merely conscious self-approval. Mrs. Chesley w^as speech- 
less, but evidently from delight. Ruth might have 
danced a Highland Fling without one word of reproof 
from the Ups which could only praise her. She ventured 
no criticisms; the occasion was to her as important as 
though it belonged to a question of state in which Ruth 
Endicott was the arbiter of destiny, the dispenser of all 
that meant good and comfort in their lives. 

The ordeal of introduction to Mrs. Selby over, Ruth, by 
Mr. Hargrave’s request, took her old friend and teacher up 
to his library, and a few words, a hand clasp seemed to 
make them friends, while Ruth a little timidly asked if 
she and Miss Fellowes could ‘‘roam about alone awhile?” 

Again came that happy new laugh from Hargrave. 

“She wnll do the duties of the chatelaine., Miss Fel- 
lowses,” he observed, “even though we have only a dull old 
brownstone and brick house to call our own, but some 
day” — a half hesitation — “we may show you together all 
the old curios my great grandfather, 1 believe, collected. 
Go ahead, my child; don’t forget ihe, Fighting Uargrave.'^^ 

So far from that, it was to his portrait Ruth led her 
friend at once — the last rays of the evening sun illumining 
it, bringing out the marked resemblance to the master of 
the house upstairs — and from this to the other portraits, 
the fine old-fashioned furniture with the seal of perma- 
nence even in the weight and disdain of idle fashion; the 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


219 


cabinets; grand piano; the table upon which had been seen 
that pale green album which had changed all her destiny, 
since it was the keynote of all that had followed; and Miss 
Fellowes thoroughly enjoyed it all. She pictured a future 
in which Ruth’s finest possibilities should develop, her 
mind reach near to the level of her soul, her sweet nature 
see its most womanly aspirations fulfilled. 

“Now then!” said Ruth as they were leaving the room, 
“what do you say? Isn’t that a place for you to revel in!” 

The}^ were on the landing, Harriet had opened her lips 
to say yes, when a light step bounded up the stairs, a 
voice said, “Miss Endicott here?” and almost before Ruth 
could answer, she found her hand in Robert Hargrave’s 
friendly grasp. This was an unlooked for pleasure. 
“iVoio,” thought Ruth, “Miss Fellowes will see and know 
all my new friends,” and when the young man had been 
introduced to their guest he made haste to say: “Mr. 
Pearson is downstairs. This will be quite a family 
gathering.” 

It need scarcely be said that the dinner passed off most 
enjoyably. Miss Fellowes and Mrs. Selby exchanged 
opinions and notes concerning fashions of the past and 
present. Robert, at a little signal from Ruth, devoted 
himself to Mrs. Chesley, making her feel entirely at her 
ease, even to the extent of her recalling her own experi- 
ences when “dining out” in Albany, forty years ago, with 
a distant cousin who was State Senator. Ruth talked at 
intervals, naturally a little preoccupied, and well aware 
that, once the meal was concluded, Mr. Pearson would have 
something to say to her on business, above all knowing 
that for many a long day again she and the master of the 
house could not hope to meet. Gregson and Ruth with 
very few words had exchanged a tacit code of signals, so 


220 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


to speak, whereby that invaluable servitor and friend 
knew that Ruth did not wish the dinner unnecessaiily 
prolonged. In one of his tours- around the table he con- 
trived in his own mysterious fashion to give Mrs. Selby 
a hint, and she rose, glancing at Mr. Pearson and Miss 
Fellowes, saying no doubt they would all have enough to 
occupy the evening with upstairs. 

While the rest went into the drawing-room Mr. Pearson 
led the way for Ruth into a small room adjoining, and 
which in days gone by had doubtless been a lady’s boudoir 
or morning-room. It overlooked the garden; traces of 
feminine occupancy were visible here and there in the 
style of furniture. The pictures on the walls were pretty 
subjects; a 'work-table with deep satin pockets was in one 
corner; a pair of globes, a cabinet filled with delicate 
china trifles stood between the windows, while the pre- 
vailing color was a roc’s-egg green, some touches of pale 
blue harmonizing well, especially in the soft candlelight 
diffused. 

Mr. Pearson and his packet of papers, his businesslike 
air, seemed decidedly out of keeping with the charming 
little room, but ho briskly cleared a place on the table, 
spreading out various memoranda, while Ruth seated her- 
self opposite and listened to all that he had to say; under- 
standing that Hargrave had made a liberal — too liberal, 
she thought — provision for her during his absence, while 
he considered her his heir. 

‘‘And now then, my dear,” said the lawyer, “it remains 
for you to establish yourself comfortably wherever you like, 
and I would suggest 3^0111* securing Mrs. Selby as a chaperon 
and companion. In cpite of your mourning,” he glanced 
at the slim 3"oung figure in its becoming if sombre apparel, 
“you can see a great deal of life without the least dis- 


BUTE ENDTCOrrS WAT, 


221 


respect to tlie dead, and Mr. Plargrave is very anxious for 
you to do so. Your income will enable you to take a 
cosey little house somewhere. Gregson goes abroad w’ith 
his master, but Norman the footman here, and Mrs. King 
the cook, would gladly go with you, and you know how 
many others you w’ould want. I can see you are bent on 
giving and doing for others,” he smiled, “ but you can do 
a great deal, I fancy, in setting an example to some of our 
rich society girls.” 

It was Ruth’s turn to smile now. ‘‘But I don’t know 
anybody !” she exclaimed. “I agree with you in part, and 
yet I hardly think I am cut out for a fine young lady of 
fashion. I enjoy the prospect of going out, as it is called, 
and having friends about me, but I never want to risk 
health and strength, and all else, for the sake of a ballroom 
success or notoriety in the society columns of the paper.” 

“As for friends,” said the old lawyer grimly, “I don’t 
know icho possesses many, but you will quickly find plenty 
of people anxious to know you. Your father had old 
friends here. Let us see, three months from to-day, what 
you will have to say about knowing no one!” 

Ruth nodded and laughed. She dared not tell him of 
her precious “schemes,” lest he at once dread that she 
would be too deeply involved in what he called “quixotic 
charity,” but later he might be a valuable counsellor. 

“There is this Miss Underwood,” she said a little 
timidly. “Don’t you think ” 

He smiled quizzically. 

“Yes, I know what you were going to say: we ought to 
do something for her. No matter what her shortcomings, 
we can’t forget we owe her a great deal for bringing affairs 
to this conclusion, and one thing more. Miss Endicott” — 
he paused a moment and went on — “I shall as your friend 


222 


RUTH ENDIGOT'rS WAT. 


and John Hargrave’s, as well as your counsel, advise you to 
beware of people like the Merritts and the Powers, Avho, as 
soon as your position is known, wdll come down upon you 
for all they can secure. I wish to guard you against such 
people. Of course, on account of little Margaret, you can- 
not keep entirely aloof from them, and that brings me 
to another point. Mr. Hargrave is very anxious that she 
should remain with you during his absence. Will she be 
too great a care?” 

‘‘By no means! I am so glad he has thought of this. 
Margaret is always happy with me,” exclaimed Huth, her 
cheeks glowing. “Really, my new household will be a 
very happy one, I hope.” She paused, resting her cheek on 
lier hand, her eyes thoughtful and absorbed, looking beyond 
the figure facing her. “It is a strange responsibility,” 
she continued slowly. “ I must have strength and courage, 
and the best of advice; for, Mr. Pearson,” she brought her 
sweet, timid glance back to him, “I cannot help feeling it 
is only a stewardship!” 

The lawyer rose, and laid his hand gently on the young 
girl’s shoulder. 

“My dear,” he said gravel}^, “if we come to that, so is 
all of life. But I want you to feel bright and happy. Y ou 
have youth and, I hope, a fine career ahead of you, and 
remember Hargrave’s happiness is involved to a deep ex- 
tent in yours. Come now, we must not remain away too 
long. This is his last evening. Be careful not to let him 
think you take all this too seriously. He is troubled 
enough even over leaving home.” 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


It would be hard to say whether Ruth, little Margaret, 
or Miss Fellowes were the most interested and excited by 
the house or ‘‘apartment ” hunting, for Ruth’s new home. 
Money is a grand leveller of all difficulties which beset one 
on such expeditions, and, while Ruth was determined not 
to be extravagant in her choice of an abode, she was 
equally resolved to pay for certain comforts and freedom 
from the annoyances existing in many of the “flats” 
visited. The place should be as homelike^ and as retired 
as possible. 

At last a real “treasure” was found, — as frequently hap- 
pens, the last on their list, — and one bright October after- 
noon the formula of taking possession was gone through 
with, and about five o’clock Ruth and Miss Fellowes stood 
alone in the drawing-room of the suite of six rooms chosen, 
overlooking a pleasant street and corner not far from a 
pretty park, exchanging glances of supreme satisfaction. 

“Won’t it be delightful to furnish such a bright new 
place ! ” exclaimed Ruth. “ Harriet,” she added, “ I see 
already where your corner is to be — not a tucked away 
corner ; no, indeed. There it is in that little recess. Book- 
shelves will fit into one side, you dear old Minerva ! You 
shall choose your own chair this very day.” 

“ Sounds too much like grandma’s chair — shall I include 
spectacles and a cap.” 

“Xonsense! It will be flirtation corner more likely, if I 
have reception evenings. You’ll want a professor or two 
to brighten up.” 


224 


BUTII ENDIGOTrS WAY, 


A smaller room at the end of the hall Ruth reserved for 
lier own sanctum.” There was a tiny library near the 
parlor, opposite, a charming dining-room, oak inlaid and 
panelled. The sleeping rooms were airy, and with good 
closet room. The kitchen really offered a temptation to 
any servants to do well, so many and well ordered were its 
conveniences ; so sunny its wide, broad-ledged windows ; 
so new and commodious its range ; while the ‘^stationary 
tubs,” which, Ruth declared, every agent who had such 
on his list had flung at her as a piece de resistance, impos- 
sible to resist, were in the nicest kind of a little laundry 
adjoining. 

“ I believe I’ll live out after this,” said Harriet Fellowes, 
beaming on the “stationary” wringer. “My dear, this is 
housekeeping reduced to a fine art. At first I considered 
that shaft, or dump, or dummy, or whatever you call it, 
simply an inspiration. Then came the new kind of speak- 
ing tubes. The elevator, of course, one has a limited ac- 
quaintance with. But I fully expect to find, when I see 
you next, there is a screw or a something adjustable on the 
range, whereby your dinner is cooked by electricity in ten 
minutes, without fire or water.” 

“ Who knows ! ” said Ruth. “ I’m so glad I’m not 
scientific, or in a place like this I’d drive everyone mad 
suggesting improvements or new ideas.” 

“ Yes. Well, my dear, we may as well go home, I sup- 
pose. Remember my train leaves day after to-morrow.” 

“I know ; alas ! alas ! Well, Harriet, it ’ll be good fun 
to surprise you with it all furnished on your visit.” 

Miss Fellowes quite agreed to this, although it was not 
without a pang she bade her beloved pupil farewell the 
following Tliursda}^ and Ruth had to console herself by 
making another visit — this time with Margaret Powers — 


RUTU ENDICOirS WAT. 


225 


to the shop on Fourteenth Street where that young person’s 
very charming bedroom suite of furniture, in white 
enamel, was awaiting tlieir final orders. 

Margaret, throughout these shopping expeditions, had 
exhibited a degree of shrewdness and caution which sur- 
prised, while it greatly amused, Ruth. Even after a de- 
cision was made she would quietly manage to investigate 
the article a little more carefully for herself, and more 
than once, with a very triumphant manner, she had called 
Ruth’s attention to some deficiencj^ or flaw in the piece of 
furniture or carpet chosen. The child was busy in this 
fashion, keenly inspecting a lounge, which Ruth had 
ordered covered with a dullish blue and white cretonne for 
Margaret’s room, and Ruth was discussing the merits of a 
patent window shade with the clerk in attendance, when 
she suddenly heard her name pronounced in rather a fami- 
liar voice, and turned to confront Lucilla Merritt and a 
showily dressed girl of her own age, who hung back a little, 
while Lucilla eagerly pressed forward. 

‘‘Well!” exclaimed Lucilla, with effusion, “how do 
you do, Ruth?” — here motioning to her friend, — “Miss 
Berkman, this is my cousin, you’ve heard me speak of. Miss 
Endicott.” 

Lucilla said “ Endercut,” but Ruth greeted both girls 
pleasantly, really anxious to set Lucilla at her ease. 
Margaret’s eagle eye had detected the meeting, and she 
came forward promptl}^ going through the introduction to 
the stransrers with the frigid manner she considered the 
very acme of politeness ; but “ taking in ” every detail of 
the strangers’ dress and appearance, with a detective’s 
accuracy. 

Meanwhile, Ruth, well aware of the pleasure it would 
give Lucilla, was saying in her sweet, well-bred voice : 


226 


RUTH ENDICOTTS WAT, 


We were just going to have a little luncli. Will you 
young ladies give us the pleasure of your company 

All injured feeling was forgotten ! Ruth well knew how 
few were the pleasures of poor Lucilla’s narrowing life, 
and it was compensation enough to see the expression of 
mingled pride and pleasure with which, glancing at her 
companion, Lucilla observed : ‘‘ She guessed they wouldn’t 
mind,” and presently the quartette were on Fourteenth 
Street. R ith directed their steps to a bright, attractive 
ladies’ lunchroom nearby, where she gave an order for 
a tempting lunch, as Lucilla later told the family, ‘‘as 
quiet as if she was only saying ‘Give me two loaves for 
five,’ around at Jerkins’.” But the meal was scarcely ended 
before Ruth had observed, in spite of Lucilla’s lively 
chatter, occasional flashes of something painful or preoccu- 
pied in her expression, was aware that her guest was tiy- 
ing to “ signal ” something to her, and, as they rose from 
the table, Lucilla continued to say in a whisper : 

“ Oh, Rath! I do want to see you ! Where can I have 
a talk for a little while, alone ? I’ll get rid of Carrie Berk- 
man easy enough.” 

“ Come home with me,” said Rnth promptly. “ I am at 
Mrs. Renfrew’s just now with Mrs. Chesley. I shall be in 
my own apartments the end of the week — but no — better 
still, I will take you there now.” 

And while Lucilla contrived to dispose of her companion, 
Ruth managed equally well with little Margaret, who was 
seen safely on a car with a message to Mrs. Chesley, after 
which she and Lucilla were free to make their way to the 
“ Waldeman ” flats, where brisk preparations for her enter- 
ing in a few days were going forward. 

A quiet corner was found in the little sanctum where 
Ruth hoped to heal, or at least to soothe, many wounds — to 


RUTH ENDIGOirS WAT. 


227 


comfort many a lonely heart ; and it seemed a trifle strange, 
and yet she was glad of it, that her first guest should be 
Lucilla Merritt, but a Lucilla very different, it would seem, 
from her former ratlier defiant and aggressive self. The 
girl, as she flung herself into the chair Ruth drew forward, 
looked almost about to weep. 

Well, I suppose as long as 3^ou cisJcedme here, Ruth,” she 
began, 3^011 aint mad or an3"thing. An3Mvay, I must speak 
to someone, or just burst ! Well, there ! things are pretty 
mean up at our house, I can tell 3^ou. L3’d Underwood’s 
been sorter bossing things in general latel3^ I’d like to 
know exactly how much the3^ settled was her and old Pow- 
ers’ claim. An3diow, I guess she’s pretty well fixed ; and she 
and pa are speculating^ if 3^011 please.” Lucilla brightened 
for a moment to smile sarcasticall3', and then continued : 

Well, my dear, you saw my friend,” Lucilla’s cheeks 
colored, and her e3"es dropped an instant. It’s a cousin 
of hers — I’m engaged!'^'* 

She flung the announcement at Ruth with a gaze in which 
was none of the triumph or joy of conquest, but rather as 
if she defied Ruth to deplore the statement. Seeing that 
her companion’s manner showed only kindliest, gentlest 
interest, the girl, with a tremulous eagerness, went on : 

He’s 3^oung, of course, but that ’ll mend, and, of course, 
he’s only making his 'way ; but he’s smarter than 3’ou’d 
think, let me tell 3^011,” her e3’'es were eagerl37^ fixed upon 
Ruth’s sweet face. He aint one of the kind, Ruth, to shoxo 
off, don’t 3"ou see — like that Peter. Never mind ! Maybe 
he’ll turn out ahead of them that seem fresh now, don’t 
3^ou fret ! ” 

“ Does — do the3^ object ?” enquired Ruth, interested, as 
what girl or woman is not, in even the humblest love 
stoiy in her own circle. 


228 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAY. 


Why, you see — of course he’s not able to marry me 

yet, and Well, I may as well tell you, Ruth, right 

here and now, not go on lying, for it’s the same thing — we 
are married.” 

Lucilla ! ” Ruth started to her feet. She had all 
the inborn repugnance to a clandestine love affair, much 
more a clandestine marriage, which every right-minded, 
delicate-natured girl or woman must feel ; and in spite of 
her sympathy for poor, ill-bred, untutored Lucilla, her pre- 
dominant feeling now was dismay and disapproval. 

Married^ Lucilla ! ” she said directly she could control 
her voice and manner, while Lucilla gazed up in mute 
entreaty into her companion’s face, half regretting her 
frankness, and wondering what he would think of it. 

That’s the size of it,” the girl said, with an short, embar- 
rassed laugh. “ And, if ^^ou’ll sit down, Ruth, and not look 
so — well — tragic. I’ll tell you how it happened. To have 
asked pa would have been no use ; and Jerry, that’s his 
name, had to go away for two or three months, maybe 
more, and he was mad as an Indian, because Tom Rogers 
was always fooling around, and I can tell 3^011 when Jerry 
does get angry, 3’oii’d better be careful. Anyhow, it was 
all done in a minute. He never stopped to think, ’cept he 
was going away in two hours. I met him all bj" accident 
that morning. He said he’d just heard he was to take the 
noon train, and he says, ‘’Cilia, I want j^ou to come right 
a\yay, this minute, and be married, and then I’ll be dead 
sure I’ve got you.’ See ? ” 

Ruth drew a deep breath — miserable when she thought 
of such a bargain — such a need to ensure loj’alt}" ! But bj^- 
this time Lucilla was roused to new interest in her own 
story, and continued with added cheerfulness : 

“ Well, I don’t know just how we did settle it. We went 


BUTE ENDIGOTrS WAY. 


229 


right to a minister Jerry knew, and, I suppose, he saw it was 
all right. Anyway, I left that house 3frs. Berhman^ al- 
though no one knows it but you to this day. We had our 
wedding trip, if you please, in Tompkins Square,” — Lucilla 
gave a short laugh again, — ‘‘ and our wedding breakfast in 
a saloon near the Grand Central Depot, just before I bade 
poor Jerry good-by. Aint much like being a hride^ is it? 
And now pa ’ll have to know. More ’n that, Jerry insists 
he oiiglit to be told now ! ” 

Ruth was silent for a few moments, wishing for wiser 
judgment on such a question tlian her own. 

‘‘I was talkin’ about things like this,” said Lucilla sud- 
denly, with some people in our street. They brouglit 
the subject up, and from what they said, maybe pa ’d make 
me get divorced.” 

Ruth flushed. 

Wo, Lucilla,” she said quickly. Don’t listen to any- 
thing of that kind. You and your husband have taken 
each other for better or for worse. When will he be 
back?” 

Lucilla sprang to her feet. 

There! I may as well tell it all!'^'* she exclaimed. 
‘‘He’s home oioio ; he’s to meet me at the ice-cream 
saloon, this very afternoon, — the saloon near Sixteenth 
Street, — at five o’clock.” 

Ruth had been prepared by the girl’s manner for a finale 
to the tale, but this was certainly a surprise. However, she 
could not but be doubly thankful for having met her cousin 
at such a crisis in her ignorant young life. Here was one 
of the cases, too common, alas ! in our civilization of to-day, 
among the young people of Lucilla’s class, wliere “ parents 
and guardians ” give unlimited opportunities for the 
acquaintance and companionship of young men whom they 


230 


RUTH ENDIGOTrS WAY, 


would not dream of permitting tlieir daughters to marry; 
and if an “elopement” is followed by no very dire results 
they maybe grateful, since nine times out of ten the contract- 
ing parties are totally unfit to bear any responsibilities, to 
cope even with each other’s tempers. And who is really to 
blame ? The parents who give their children only the 
front doorsteps for the reception of guests, or the heedless 
ignorant girls and boys, whose horizon of hap})iness is 
bounded by an evening’s “fun,” a “good time,” generally 
in lively company, where fashion, masquerading in cheap 
materials, is called “ style,” and an aptitude for the newest 
slang, wit. 

Ruth, of course, knew this side of life but vaguel3% 
indeed the Merritts were the only types of their class she 
liad encountered ; but by every instinct she felt that 
Lucilla was unfitted for the role she had assumed : the wife 
of a poor man — no matter how “ smart” he might be. 

“ Suppose,” exclaimed Lucilla suddenly, “ I go bring 
Jerry around here ? or maybe you’ll come and see him 
there ?” 

“ No,” said Ruth, smiling in spite of herself, “ I’d 
rather not go, Lucilla, but I will wait here — only don’t be 
too long.” 

Lucilla darted away, and during the interval of waiting 
Ruth gave some orders to an upholsterer who called and 
who detained her even after the electric bell outside was 
touched, the man opening the door to admit Lucilla fol- 
lowed by her very daring and over-jealous “ Lochinvar.” 

They disappeared into the well-lighted parlor ; the 
workmen departed, and Ruth braced herself to meet and 
talk reason to the valiant bridegroom. But at the first 
glance she stood still, divided between surprise and amuse- 
ment ; for the hero of the hour was a tall, slender, boyish- 


BUTH ENDICOTrS WAT. 


231 


looking young fellow, apparerrtly not more than twenty, 
very delicate in appearance ; as unlike tlie ideal Lucilla’s 
story had suggested as can possibly be imagined. It was 
far easier to imagine an3^one running away with him than 
vice versa; and, no doubt, Lucilla was shrewd^ enough to 
appreciate Ruth’s feeling, for she said hastily and with 
much of her old spirit : 

‘^Miss Endercutt — m^*^ husband, Mr. Berkman,” and the 
groom coloring violently, but with veiy good manners, 
extended his hand, receiving Rutli’s effort at congratula- 
tion with a scarlet flush mounting to the roots of his 
hair, still in a way which she could not help liking. 

Yes’m,” he said, glancing at the proud Lucilla ; “ I 
never saw a girl quite up to ’Cill, and I’ll do m3" best now. 
It’s going to be tough telling the old man, but I guess I’ll 
pull through it.” 

He squared his shoulders resolutel3", and looked as 
though prepared to brave a dozen Merritts. 

If — if I can forward matters in any wa3" for 3^011, Mr. 
Berkman,” Ruth said gentl3", ‘^3’ou and Lucilla must let 
me know at once. Are — have 3"ou gone into business 
here? ” she continued. 

“ Why — well, not exactly,” he admitted, ‘‘I’m in a store, 
just for the time being.” He hesitated, and then said, with 
a spirit Ruth had not thought him capable of possessing : 
“ Anyway, I won’t leave Lucilla to be badgered by her 
folks. I’m getting five dollars a week, and it’s better to 
take a place for two dollars and live on the three, than 
have the very eyes pecked out of her head at home.” 

“ That’s Jerry Berkman for you ! ” murmured the proud 
Lucilla. 

“ You deserve good luck ! ” exclaimed Ruth ; “ and 
Lucilla,” — she turned toward her cousin, — “although 3’ou 


232 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAY, 


did not invite me to your wedding, remember I have every 
right to make a wedding present, so you must let me know 
jT'our new address at once.” 

Ruth contrived, before anotlier word could be said, to 
take Lucilla into the adjoining room on the pretence of 
showing her the new curtains, and, once there, made her 
meaning clear. 

‘‘Lucilla,” she said, in a matter-of-fact tone, “Mr. Berk- 
man is perfectly right. You must not conceal your mar- 
riage. And now, dear, will you accept what I have by me 
for part of my wedding present, and directly you are in 
your new home let me know, and I will see to the rest.” 

Lucilla’s eyes filled with sudden tears. 

“ Why, Ruth Endercutt ! ” she exclaimed, “ and you 
never to throw it up how hateful I was ! Oh, I feel so 
different f added the young girl, “ since I’ve cared for 
Jerry — seems as if there aint anything mean left in me.” 

Ruth smiled and embraced her cousin with sincere 
affection. 

“Keep to that feeling, dear,” she said gayly. “And 
now, take my advice ; go out with your husband, find 
your new nest, have as nice a dinner as can be ordered, 
and this evening call on your familj^ together,'^'* 

Lucilla hardly knew or could have told how, half an 
hour later, she and Jerry made their way into the street 
again, the roll of bills for twenty dollars Ruth had pressed 
into Lucilla’s hands a seeming mine of wealth to them, and 
who can describe the pride and pleasure with which they 
engaged two small rooms in a house on the west side, where 
the landlady, appreciating the fact that they were bride 
and groom, was cordiality itself, combining a business and 
motherly manner to perfection ; and this settled foi*, they 
sallied out for their first dinner together. Young Berk- 


RUm ENDIGOTrS WAY, 


233 


man, in spite of his being “temperance” on almost all 
occasions, permitting a pint of claret to be added to the 
feast, in wliich to drink Ruth’s health and prosperity and 
then their own. 

Lucilla kept up her own and Jerry’s spirits until they 
were actually on the threshold of her father’s doorway, 
when it must be admitted her bravery became the shal- 
lowest kind of a pretence ! She scarcely knew whether 
she dreaded most her father’s anger and torrent of words 
or Samuel’s positive sarcasm, and perhaps Peter the 
Second’s attempt at wit. However, it would never do to 
allow Jerry to see all she was suffering, and she forced her- 
self to run up the familiar steps quite gayly, scarcely heed- 
ing Jeriy’s entreaty to see if he was “looking the right 
thing.” 

“ Oh, bother ! ” said Lucilla, with a toss of her head. 
“Don’t let one of ’em down you !” 

And fortune favored them ! At this moment Mr. Mer- 
ritt and Lydia Underwood were deep in discussing their 
new “ speculation,” and the timorous “ runaways ” were 
received by the rest of the family in the dining-room with 
far more kindness or interest than they could have 
expected. Indeed their coming was a welcome diversion, 
and Lucilla soon found herself telling their tale over again 
to Sam, who appeared last, delighted to detail the encounter 
with Ruth, their visit to her new “ place,” and her good 
advice. 

“ Well, then,” said Sam, with an expressive nod and wink, 
“ all you need now is the paternal blessing ! Here he 
comes ! Now children ! ” — as Mr. Merritt’s heavy step 
was heard, — “ down on your knees and say you’re home 
again, home again, from a foreign shore.” 

But no such theatrical pose was indulged in ; Mr. Mer- 


234 


RUTH ENDICOTr 8 WAT, 


ritt’s face, directly it appeared in the doorway, showed he 
had matters of great importance on his mind, and not 
even observing the presence of a stranger, he burst into a 
subject which put all else in the background. Unless 
something very unexpected showed in the way of deliver- 
ance, he was a ruined man ! The ‘‘ bubble ” he and 
Lydia had invested in had burst. Perhaps the house 
over his head, he declared in his most ringing accents 
might be taken from him ! 

Lucilla’s arms were promptly wound about his neck, and 
she presented her husband. 

Mr. Merritt, with the growl of a caged animal, fairly 
glared at Jerry, who, appreciating the domestic crisis, con- 
sidered he and Lucilla need not be so very humble. 

‘‘ Married ! ” gasped iVIr. Merritt, and to Lucilla’s “Yes, 
pa,” he answered by taking her by the arm and looking at 
her from under savagely drawn brows. 

“ And Ruth Endicott is our best friend,” said Lucilla, 
with sparkling eyes. “ And if you’re going to have busi- 
ness trouble, pa,” she added, “ it’s so much the better, you 
have one less on your hands. We’ve just gone to house- 
keeping,” she continued, “ and here’s the address.” 

Mrs. Merritt, by this time, was silently weeping, and 
Lucilla hastened to reassure her, while the rest of the 
company stared at each other in ominous silence. 

“You’re a fool,” broke out Mr. Merritt at last, “but — 
well — if it’s settled — it can’t hQWidone^ I suppose. What’s 
your name, sir? ” he thundered, turning to Jerry. 

“ Jeremiah Berkman,” said Lucilla prompt!}". 

“ Can’t he speak his own name ? ” demanded her father 
angrily. “ But I guess you can be tongue for both. 
Well, I’ve got to go over to Johnson’s on business, and I’ll 
leave you to the congratulations of the rest of the family.” 


BUTE ENDIGOTrS WAT, 


235 


And crushing his hat on the back of his head, Mr. Merritt 
departed. Ilis absence was the signal for a speedy loosening 
of all tongues, everyone eager to ‘‘ know all about it,” and 
when Mr. Berkman sent out, with quite a royal manner, for 
oysters and Bass’ ale for the party, and Sam produced a 
cigar, of not too violent a “bouquet,” to offer the groom, 
liarmony was restored and forgiveness complete. Only 
Mrs. Merritt found it hard to be thoroughly satisfied. She 
drew Lucilla away from the rest, and out into the kitchen, 
for a little tearful word of remonstrance. 

“Never to tell your own mother^ ’Cilia!” she said, 
wiping her eyes. “ I don’t seem to be held of no account 
anyway, somehow, among you all ! ” 

“ Nonsense, ma ! ” declared the bride, in quite her old 
dictatorial manner, “ don’t you be a goose ! You know 
perfectly well, if I’d even let on we were engaged, the fuss 
there would have been, and when we got married we 
thought Jerry had to be away ever so long, and he got 
wind somehow of Tom Rogers, and he wasn’t going to 
liave any nonsense^ I tell you ! And sa}^, ma, only for 
Ruth, whom we treated so mean^ like dirt under our feet, I 
wouldn’t be here now,” the present was mentioned in a 
whisper, “ and she’s going to do more yet. Now then ! ” 

“ Aint he rather delicate ?” suggested the new mother- 
in-law timidly. 

“ No,” protested Lucilla. “ It’s just his looks — and, 
ma,” — she lowered her voice, and her whole face softened, — 
“ he’s awful good^ I tell j^ou — he aint got a bad habit for 
me to unlearn him, and when you come down to my [)lace 
maybe it’ll do you good. You’ll get away from the bother 
up here for a bit anyway, 

And mother and daughter, leaning against the old kitchen 
table, exchanged the first warm spontaneous embrace 


236 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAY. 


Lucilla could remember since she was a little girl. And so 
ended a day which had dawned for two young lives in 
tremulous anxiety, uncertainty, and dread, Lucilla, as she 
and her young husband walked slowly home ” togetlier, 
arm in arm, discussing tlie life that la}^ before them, feeling 
as if tliat mother’s kiss — so long unknown — upon her lips 
was a benediction with which she could start out a better, 
braver wife and woman, and it seemed some way, she 
thought, as though whatever Ruth’s hand had touched 
brought comfort and consolation. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


Late one afternoon in January Robert Hargrave, with 
an expression half amused, half annoyed, on his clear dark 
face, made his way across Gramercy Park and to the 
doorway of one of the fine old-fashioned mansions which 
dignify that somewhat retired but aristocratic region. 
The scraping of a violin, the flight of agile fingers upon a 
piano greeted his ear directly the door was opened, and it 
was evident by the company gathered about in the wide 
hallway that a “Musicale” was in progress. It was, in 
fact, one of Miss Derby’s most exclusive “afternoons” to 
which young Hargrave had been bidden, but I question 
whether he would have accepted the invitation had not 
Ruth Endicott urged his doing so; and on reaching the 
door of the music-room, where he remained motionless dur- 
ing the duet in progress, his eye scanned the company 
quietly, but surely, for his cousin’s ward. 

The company was what I suppose may without offence 
to our republican simplicity be termed strictly “aristo- 
cratic,” otherwise confined to the class supposed to be 
“society,” and they were as well dressed, well mannered, 
and agreeable to look upon as the cultured class of any 
community would wish to be — ladies, young girls, and 
matrons, and some decidedly elderly dames in the dis- 
tinctly prevailing fashion, “bien chausee, et bien gantee” 
and listening, if not in every instance intelligently, with 
decorous silence; young men and a few elderly ones, for 
the most part a trifle bored, but all politely sedate; some 


237 


238 


BUTII ENBICOTTS WAY. 


celebrated debutantes of the season, charmingly fresh, and 
as attractive as the best taste in dress and the most ap- 
proved of manners could make them; girls such as I fancy 
no country but America can produce, clear of eye, fresh 
and fair of coloring, trimly built, and easy of carriage; 
perfect specimens of girlhood at its best, yet in many 
instances with that touch of hauteur our New York girl of 
to-day seems most foolishly to have adopted as a special 
mark of distinction. 

The picture the rooms presented was certainly an 
agreeable one; the music like an accompaniment to the 
scene; but young Hargrave’s eye was not at rest nor his 
mind content until he found the object of his search. 
Ruth had warned him to be earlj^, and from her corner, 
seated on a divan against a great malachite stand of yel- 
low roses, she looked at him with mute reproach, yet a 
lurking smile in her gray eyes which made him know that 
in any case he was welcome. 

Ruth had said she would never be a ‘‘fine J^oung lady of 
fashion,” nor was she in one sense to be thus described 
at present, but an indefinable air of belonging to “society” 
had made a difference between the schoolgirl of six 
months before and the young lady of to-day. Her abilities 
as head of a little household had been brought into action; 
she was obliged to think and act and decide for, if not 
actually rule others, and in spite of her remark that she 
“knew no one,” it had been as Mr. Pearson predicted. 
Already Mr. Hargrave’s ward found her visiting list too 
large. Her mourning, not of course laid aside, confined 
her social “outings” to entertainments like this of Miss 
Derby’s, small luncheons, afternoons devoted to club meet- 
ings for charity, or otherwise, with five o’clock tea to 
follow, but hers was no life of seclusion. The mere fact of 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAT, 


239 


seeing that Margaret had company enough to keep lier enter- 
tained obliged Ruth to go about herself, while in certain 
charitable work she had begun social life played a promi- 
nent part. 

It was said of Mifjs Endicott that, while she was always 
delightful company, few people could boast of being on 
intimate terms with her. Of her own self she gave only 
the sympathetic, generous part; what were her personal 
perplexities, thoughts, ambitions, or ideas, only a very 
few could ever know or guess; and this, it may be, added 
something to her popularity. Among the girls of her 
acquaintance it was already understood that Ruth seemed 
devoid of selfishness, never wearied anyone with her 
private “feelings,” and although fond of good company, 
seemed curiously indifferent to any marked attention from 
the opposite sex. Indeed, among the latter she was regarded 
as quite impervious to anything “special” from them, 
unless it be an unfailing courtesy of manner which no 
man, young or old, of her new circle failed to show Har- 
grave’s fair young ward. Even the “whims” and 
“crochets,” as Margaret had called some of Ruth’s plans, 
had turned out so distinctly beneficial, were so calmly 
and regularly carried on, that it was impossible to criticise 
or question their good result. If she approached entire 
confidence with anyone, it was with this young man now 
standing watching her from the doorway. It had not 
been possible for her to do all she wished for his prompt 
advancement in life; but through Mr. Pearson she had 
seen that he was put in the way of improving his fortunes. 
Ruth had feared to appear too much interested lest she 
betray what she had done; and now, fortunately, in a new 
idea, suggested to her by various appeals to her purse for 
charity from a certain class, there seemed to be an oppor- 


240 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


tunity for combining bis services with good results on 
both sides. If be agreed to assist her, be could scarcely 
refuse the salary she would be obliged to give anyone else 
to whom she would apply. As Signor Escapelti finished 
his last cadenza, and while the applause was still going on, 
Robert made his way across the room, exchanged a greet- 
ing with his hostess, and then held out his hand to Ruth. 

‘‘Well,” he said, smiling, “here I am — late, but at the 
same time not unmindful of our plan for this evening. By 
the way, had you a letter from my cousin this morning?” 

“Yes, another delay; no chance of his being home 
before spring. Oh, Robert” — They had dismissed the 
formality of any prefix; it made Ruth seem more one 
of the family, and placed the young man on an easier 
footing in her household — “I am so anxious to go down 
this afternoon to St. Helen’s. I’ve been distracted hearing 
of a blunder made there.” 

“You don’t say! I fancied w^e were going to get that 
place running on a very good basis!” 

“It’s their fashion of delaying things!” said Ruth, with 
a little frown. “ Never mind ; if j^ou’ll go with me I’ll tell 
you all about it on the way down. There comes Alice 
Derby to carry you or me off. Which is it?” 

It was not in Miss Derb3^’s plan to leave Ruth to be 
monopolized by one of her own family, and accord ingl}^ a 
dignified young man was brought up, and introduced as 
Mr. Burton Andrews, while Robert was desired b}^ his 
hostess to take her into the dining-room. 

“I’m simply famished^'^'^ said Miss Derby, “and besides 
I want a talk with y^ou.” 

Mr. Burton Andrews proved quite entertaining, and 
Ruth would have thoroughly enjoyed their little chat, 
which was on all manner of topics, but for her eagerness to 


RUTH ENDIGOTr 8 WAY. 


241 


be on the way to the east side with Robert, and see how 
things were progressing. When her companion said, 
‘‘But after all Melba is Melba; no one can be quite like 
her,” she found herself nodding vaguely and wondering 
if the lady recommended as matron at the little mission 
house would prove the right person ; whether it would seem 
too abrupt to carry Robert down there at once with her; 
but at last a loophole of escape occurred, she contrived to 
telegraph a signal to Robert, and in a short time they were 
whirling along in the neatly appointed little brougham 
which was one of the outward and visible signs of her 
new position. 

“Now then,” she exclaimed, directly they were on their 
way, “I want so much to have your judgment on one or 
two vexed points. I am determined this place shall not 
drift into something merely mechanical, I want it to be 
really a home, if only for a night, for any wanderer who 
needs it, and to make it useful as well in various ways. 
I am going to spend a day or two down there myself 
next week.” 

“Indeed? with the — boarders?” 

“No, with Mrs. Kelsey, my new matron; I’ve planned it 
with her. One thing I don’t like is the street the house is 
in — but of course, as Mr. Pearson says, it is of more use in 
just such a neighborhood. Do you know, Margaret is 
really delighted with it?” 

“Really! I wonder ” He broke off as Ruth smiled 

in gentle reproach. “You think I am hard upon her?” he 
continued. “But indeed I am not, I only see her from a 
different standpoint than yours, and fear for the germ of 
selfishness in her; then, another thing, she assimilates too 
quickly with people. They make much of her, and Mar- 
garet is serene in her enjoyment of it all; she absorbs 


242 


RUTH ENDIGOTrS WAT. 


adulation too readily. You see I have my own way of 
observing and criticising.” 

Ilis keen, dark glance rested upon Ruth’s face earnestly 
as he spoke. 

“Yes, I am half afraid of your search-light on myself. 
Tell me” — she colored, but hurriedl^Mvent on — “when you 
came in to the Derbys’, and stood there in the hall looking 
at me that time, Avere you not, just a trifle, well, critical 
of something in or about me?” 

“Yes.” He nodded and smiled. “But I won’t explain 
myself now. Later bring up the topic again, and I’ll 
unburden myself freely, I promise you. Here we are!” 

The smiling brightness of his face still lingered as he 
assisted Ruth from the carriage, but it faded too quickly 
to have come from any deeper feeling than a desire to 
turn Ruth’s thought from the topic she had started. 
Both of the young people, however, had enough to occupy 
their attention in the business Avhich had called Ruth 
hither; but it may be as well to give my reader an idea of 
this first important “scheme” in the young girl’s new 
sphere of activity. 


CHAPTER XXXYIT. 


On her way home from an unusually agreeable afternoon 
with some of her new friends, part of which had been 
spent in purchases for her temporary home, Ruth had been 
startled by a young woman who was standing on a street 
corner, gazing up and down in a helpless fashion, as though 
appealing to some unseen source for relief of mind. 

As Ruth was hurrying by she had said only, ‘^Oh, 
miss — if you 'please ! ” but the tone w’as like a cry, half 
ending in a sob, and something in the girl’s look went 
directly to Ruth’s heart and instinct. Here seemed no 
common case of street begging. There was something 
beyond that. Evidently the girl’s need had reached its 
final tension when, were there no relief to be found, mind 
or even morals might give way. Ruth, from some sad as 
well as amusing experiences, had been cured of careless 
giving in charity to street paupers, yet she never passed 
the appeal of the most vagrant without a kind word and a 
suggestion of help, if they proved worthy. She had said 
more than once to Miss Fellowes, and even Mrs. Chesley, 
that the sight of want, hunger, cold, or moral need on the 
faces of those she passed by in the streets seemed to weigh 
upon her like a physical burden, even if she helped them; 
and there was an ever impelling force within, doubtless a 
more gracious offshoot of earl^^ Puritanism, urging her to 
do something for her fellow-beings, especially when she 
considered the “stewardship” of her fortune. 

“Are you ill?” she asked the girl gently. 


243 


244 


EUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT. 


‘‘No,” was the quiet answer. “Not yet, but how long 
this can go on I don’t know.” She gazed at Ruth out of 
tearless but burning eyes. “I must tell you, for we are 
nearly starv ing and without shelter, my sister and I. Oh, 
don'll go!” Ruth had merely made a movement to draw 
the girl to one side away from the gaze of passers by, and 
as she hastened to reassure her she went on hurriedl}^ 
“ You canH get work now. I lost my job through Mary’s 
being so sick, and no one to mind her, and I’ve walked the 
streets looking for another. I had to give up our little 
room.” Her voice fell, but the sad, honest look of her eyes 
did not alter. “The landlord tried to be good to us, but 
what could he do? He had to pay his rent, there’s no 
trust these times, and we couldn’t pay ours. You’d think 
there were places to go in a big city like this, but, if there 
are, I don’t know where to find them ! I’ve been to two or 
three this very day, and they onl}^ say they’ll investigate 
as soon as they can. Investigate ! — she broke off with 
another tearless sob — “when we’re starving ! or send us to 
Island as paupers! We, that have never known what 
such a place was! I got a woman next door to keep Mary 
for to-day and to-night. I mean, just to give her a bed; 
she can’t walk as I’ve been doing.” 

The girl turned her dry, anguished eyes imploringly 
upon Ruth. They were eyes with the light of purity and 
intellect in them contending with the cruel pangs of hunger 
and the struggle for the common needs of all who are 
mortal. 

“We must find a place for you!” exclaimed Ruth. 
“Where is your sister? Can’t you take me there at once? 
And we can carry her something nice to eat.” 

The girl leaned her hand against the railing near them 
and laughed in a strange, dazed way. 


RUTH ENDICOTT 8 WAT. 


245 


‘‘Is it true?” she murmured. “Do you mean it?” She 
drew her hand across her eyes, looked about her in a nerv- 
ous fashion, but was silent, while Ruth motioned to a passing 
cab, which drew up at the curb; the driver glancing down 
with surprise at the contrast in his two fares. But he 
touched his hat with respect when Ruth, having obtained 
an east-side address from her companion, assisted her into 
the vehicle as politely as though she had been one of the 
grandes dames at Miss Derby’s miisicale^ and in answer to 
her query where was the nearest good grocery store, men- 
tioned one not far away, while Ruth seated herself beside 
her protegee and assured her they would take home some- 
thing to make the invalid sister feel nearly well again. 

“I don’t know your name yet,” said Ruth, as she 
returned to the carriage, in which a polite clerk had de- 
posited a number of parcels, one of which she opened at 
once to olfer the girl a tempting piece of fruit. 

“Beckwith,” was the answer. “I am Kate, and she’s 
Mary. We came to New York with father about five years 
ago. He went back out West and left us” — her pale cheeks 
colored faintly. “ We don’t know where he is, but we did 
pretty well from the first until Mary’s health gave way, 
and then you see it was hard to keep all things going, 
Mary was to have been married, only the young man, well, 
changed his mind.” 

What a history! thought Ruth; almost a tragedy told 
briefly in a few words, in the dull or composed tone of 
voice which comes of long acquaintance with grief or heart 
hunger. For an instant Ruth could hardly speak; then 
she said, laying her daintily gloved hand on the girl’s 
shabby sleeve. 

“But one thing, I feel sure; you and she have been good 
girls. Crime, after all, is the only disgrace.” 


246 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT, 


Kate Beckwith smiled sadly. 

‘‘No one has cause to shame us,” she answered, a flicker 
of honest pride in her eyes, and Ruth said no more. 

Following the directions given, cabby turned down a 
narrow street in a very crowded thoroughfare, wholly 
unfamiliar to Ruth, and in which the appearance of a cab, 
with Kate Beckwith and a “grand lady,” and so many 
parcels, drew together quite an admiring crowd of chil- 
dren, but Ruth’s companion made haste to lead the way 
into the shabby tenement, whose door stood open, thence 
up two flights of stairs, where she paused, breathless from 
her own eagerness, at a doorway in the rear, which she 
pushed open unceremoniously. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 


The room into which Ruth followed Kate Beckwith 
was evidently kitchen and dining-room combined for a 
rather large family. A good-natured but tired-looking 
W’oman was seated in a rocking-chair, holding a very grimy 
little baby, eating candy, while two older children, with 
crusts of bread in their hands, clung to her skirts. A tall, 
very thin young person of about sixteen was crimping her 
hair in front of a cracked mirror, but the entire party, in- 
cluding the baby himself, suspended operations to stare at 
Ruth and her companion. 

‘‘It’s a friend I’ve brought with me, Mrs. Macartney,” 
explained Ruth’s guide hurriedly; “a lady, I mean, I 
met. She’s kind enough to come and see Mary.” 

The tall girl at the mirror and Mrs. Macartney herself 
made haste to produce the least rickety chair while Kate 
Beckwith disappeared into an adjoining room. 

A few moments of briefest conversation with the 
mother and daughter explained the position to Ruth. 
The Beckwiths were honest, hard-working girls, Mrs. 
Macartney affirmed, but all she could do to help was to give 
Mary a shelter for a night or two. 

“You see, miss,” said the good-hearted although hope- 
lessly untidy woman, “I’ve just three bits of rooms myself 
and only my Johnny and this girl here, Eliza, working. I 
get a bit, now and again, of washing to do, but I can’t go 
out and leave the children. I’m a widow since this baby 
was four weeks old, when his father fell from a scaffolding 
and was brought home to us a corpse.” 

247 


248 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY, 


Eliza, w’itli a little flourish of her skirts aud toss of her 
head, had seated herself, and was absorbed in a study of 
Ruth’s severely plain but handsome attire; and even while 
listening with sympathy to the widow’s sad story, our 
heroine could not resist the amusement afforded her by 
observing, in this poor little daughter of poverty and the 
back streets, precisely the same kind of interest in the 
“fashions” which was so fruitful an occupation to Mar- 
garet Powers and her various young friends in a different 
circle! After all, the boundary lines are not so severely 
marked as one would suspect from the street or front door 
of one’s residence ! Eliza Macartney’s shabby gowm had 
touches of the prevailing fashion in the wide sleeves and 
collarette of dingy ribbon; her hair was crimped in 
“puffs ” at either side of her head, and drawn high up at 
the back: into a spiral looking knot finished off with a cheap 
shell ornament perilously to one side. She had one of 
those nondescript yet common faces of the New York 
girl of her class; pretty in its unrefined way, sharp- 
featured, yet with a certain bloom, bright-eyed and good- 
humored. Poverty or the dinginess of her surroundings 
had evidently not so far dismayed the eldest Miss Macart- 
ney, who, however struck she might be wdth the superior 
elegance and even beauty of their guest, had not the 
slightest sensation of inequality except in the matter of 
finance and dress. Ruth might be a “swell,” according to 
Eliza’s estimate, but there was no idea that social differ- 
ences should regulate her manner toward Kate’s new 
friend; and when one reflects that the turn of fortune or 
politics within a short term of years might place Eliza’s 
descendant on a i:)erfect footing with that of any Endicott, 
servility in the present generation of Macartney ought 
not to be expected. 


RUTH ENDIGOTT^S WAY. 


249 


A faint sound at the doorway of the inner room diverted 
Ruth’s attention from the family group, and Kate Beck- 
with appeared; her sister leaning on her arm. Yes, there 
was no questioning the truth of the younger woman’s 
statement. Mary Beckwith, a slender, fragile-looking 
creature of perhaps twenty,, looked as though over-w^ork, 
want, perhaps the disappointment of which her sister had 
spoken, had marked her as with the hand of death. She 
was a darker, paler likeness of her sister; there was the 
patience of silently borne suffering in her look; as Eliza 
drew forward a chair she smiled her thanks and then looked 
wistfully in Ruth’s direction, and the glance seemed to 
tell her story far better than any words. Ruth made 
haste to put a few questions; how long had she been ill; 
well, off and on six months, “but only failing this way 
lately,” the younger sister interposed, and Mrs. Macartney, 
silencing the baby with another lump of candy, added, 
“She wouldn’t go to the hospital, for fear — the creature — • 
she’d never get home again; the dispensing doctor had 
been to see her, and wanted her to go.” 

Finally, convinced that this was no case for the tire- 
some, almost cruel delays of “investigation,” Ruth 
enquired whether the landlord had as yet rented their little 
place. They thought not, but Eliza started up with an 
offer to go and see; from which errand she returned to say 
that the rooms were still empty save for the few bits of 
furniture he was holding, and w'hich were all in the little 
bedroom. 

“Then, would you like to keep them, Kate,” said Ruth 
cheerily, “and be near your kind friend here? and perhaps 
we can make your sister comfortable there until she is 
stronger.” 

Words of mine cannot convey the happiness this sug- 


250 


RUTH EKDICOTrS WAY, 


geslion afforded all present. Leaving Mary in charge of 
Mrs. Macartney, into whose liand Ruth had contrived to 
slip a piece of money for any immediate need, Kate Beck- 
with conducted Ruth to the floor below, Avhere she soon 
made terras with the now friendl}’^ landlord, who conducted 
them himself back to the Beckwiths’ deserted home. 

In spite of their roughly dismantled condition the two 
rooms — one square and sunny, fronting the back of the 
house, and the inner one dark, save for a small window 
into the hall — showed the cleanliness with Avhich they had 
been kept, but the few pieces of furniture were scarcely 
worth putting back into their places. It would cost but 
little to make the invalid comfortable, decided Ruth, and 
accordingly, after settling Mr. Hofmeister’s bill, she bar- 
gained with the fashionable Eliza to assist Kate Beckwith 
in cleaning the little rooms, while her own time was taken 
up with a visit to a furniture dealer on Fourteenth Street, 
from whom, with directions for prompt delivery, the neces- 
sary articles of clean, new furniture were purchased; and 
Ruth’s heart grew lighter every instant, as she reflected 
upon the moral as well as physical satisfaction to be had in 
such expenditures. Even some pretty muslin curtaining and 
new cooking utensils were thought of, after which came 
orders to a neighboring butcher and baker; “cash pay- 
ments” securing prompt attention in every instance, while 
it may easily be understood that Eliza Marcartney and 
Kate Beckwith had been working with a will to make the 
rooms ready for their new “setting forth.” Finally Ruth, 
who had dismissed the carriage with a line to Mrs. Selby 
explaining her absence, entered into the work of re- 
ariangement herself, flitting out once more to complete 
the Beckwiths’ fresh start in life by some articles of plain 
but comfortable wearing apparel, fresh flannels, and a nice 


RUTH ENDIGOTTS WAY. 


251 


wrapper for the invalid, making poor Mary’s eyes brighten 
with pleasure, nor did she leave until she saw things really 
homelike and cosey, a fire burning in the little stove, the 
kettle boiling, new crockery on the table, provisions to 
last a week in the larder, and enough money left with Kate 
to keep things going for a week at least. 

“For let me tell you,” said Ruth, as she prepared to bid 
the sisters good-night, “you both need a rest after all this 
worry. Don’t think about work for a day or two. You 
must get well nourished, and rest, and then you will be 
fit for something, Kate. I will see that Dr. Wood, our 
physician, calls in the morning; and he will know just 
what to do for Mary. All I ask,” she added gently, “is 
that, when you pray together to-night, you will remember 
me and ask that those I love shall be spared and cared 
for.” 

And so the sun had set on a day eventful for many 
lives. Human endurance, Kate and her sister that morning 
believed, had reached its highest pitch; even insanity from 
the weight of care and want had seemed to threaten the 
girl as she walked the streets, hungiy, wretched, well-nigh 
despairing; yet, was it perhaps because of temptation 
bravely resisted, because of the prayer, Lord have mercy 
on constantly in her heart, that the clouds had sud- 
denly parted, the darkness rolled back, and the sunlight of 
Ruth’s sweet charity been poured upon them? 

This experience, with others, in which women who but a 
short time before were in easy circumstances, and, through 
no fault save “hard times,” were flung unsheltered upon 
the world, had been the origin of Ruth’s setting about 
forming some little temporary home for women and girls in 
just such a plight as she bad found the Beckwiths. From 
their experiences, as well as others, she determined the plan 


252 


nuTii EJsrnicoTT's way. 


sliOTild be so made that prompt assistance in the way of 
food and shelter should precede ‘investigation.” There 
should be no cause for any girl to be unsheltered or 
hungry, if such a one could find this little home; and 
Robert Hargrave, although fond of teasing Ruth about her 
“boarders,” had really been one of her most efficient aids, 
while his father was delighted to attend to the accounts 
and business management of the establishment; an arrange- 
ment Robert of course made no effort to prevent, feeling 
only too thankful that the overwearied, disappointed old 
man had found such congenial occupation; the salary 
enabling him to have various comforts and even a few 
luxuries Robert could not possibly have afforded. Kate 
Beckwith had been installed as daily housekeeper; while 
Ruth had found, as she hoped, in a gentle, refined, but prac- 
tical minded widow lady, sorely in need of a home, an 
excellent matron; and Mary Beckwith, so far restored to 
health as to be able to do a little work and some teaching 
needed, was made thoroughly contented by supervising the 
sewing-room, which was a feature of the place; all who 
sought its shelter being at liberty to make or mend their 
garments certain hours of tlie day or evening, while Mrs. 
Chesley ’s present occupation — her old trade renewed — gave 
employment to several who applied to “St. Helen’s Home,” 
as, from a suggestion in that heroic woman’s life, Ruth had 
christened the little building. As can be readily under- 
stood, all this had not been set in motion without consider- 
able thought, anxiety, and many vexatious incidents; but, 
following Mrs. Selby’s advice, really sound on all prac- 
tical subjects, and as well that of “the Derby girls,” as 
that delightful quartette of maiden sisters were called by 
all their friends, Ruth had steered clear of anything like 
a “board” of managers, directresses, or advisers general. 


BUTH ENDICOTT^S WAT, 


253 


She was lessee of the little house, wath Mr. Pearson as 
her business adviser. Difficult cases were decided upon 
by the clergyman of the parish, Dr. Wood, or Mrs. Ful- 
grave, one of Ruth’s new friends in Hargrave’s circle, 
while Mrs. Chesley’s landlady, Mrs. Renfrew, had proved 
just the person to conduct any “investigations” needed. 
She was a rock of common-sense, with a warm heart, and 
3 ^et not over-susceptible to appearances. It seemed now as 
though all things were on a firm basis. The Beckwiths 
had moved their small belongings into the room they were 
proud to call their own at St. Helen’s, but it must not be 
supposed that the}" had forgotten the Macartney family, to 
whom Ruth’s enterprise had also proved a godsend, since 
Mrs. Macartney came three days in the week for work in 
the laundry at “St. Helen’s,” and Ruth was doing her 
best to find some niche the airy Eliza could fill, and whi(3h 
might distract her attention from what Avas now occupying 
it at the factoiy Avhere she worked, ^. e., how she might 
procure the ncAvest fashions in dress out of her small 
wages, and where she could spend her evenings with most 
social relaxation, or what she generalized as “fun.” The 
absolute dulness of nearly all homes, if such the dwellings 
of Eliza’s class could be called, was a subject Alice Derby 
spent considerable time over; and Eliza’s general routine of 
life pointed a warning lesson; and how to provide pleas- 
ant amusement for the young people “St. Helen’s” had 
brought them into contact Avith Miss Derby and Ruth AA'ere 
now considering. All of these points Avere touched on in 
the latter’s Aveekl}" budget to her guardian; and although 
he did not encourage her in too many undertakings, yet his 
ansAvers shoAved as keen an appreciation as Ruth’s most 
impetuous demand could wish. He Avas sympathetic and 
yet careful in advice, but always seemed gratified by her 


254 


BUTE ENDIGOTT'8 WAY, 


reports of social life, in which, so far as she was able, it 
was evident he wished her to take part. 

Among her new friends the Derbys seemed the most 
satisfactory. Alice, the elder sister and head of the 
‘^Bachelor Maids’ Hall,” as they called it, from impressing 
her first as too calm and reserved for any close friendship 
had gradually come to be more of a co'iifidante than Ruth 
fancied she would ever need. There was a peculiar sense 
of dependence and trust to be placed in fhe tall, fair- 
haired, gray-eyed woman of eight-and-twenty who was 
so quietly graceful, so self-possessed, yet ready to respond 
to many needs around her; then, in one of her recent 
visits, Harriet Fellowes had pronounced decidedly in favor 
of Miss Derby, which had great weight with Ruth. Evelyn, 
the second sister, was more exuberant, lively, and dogmatic, 
but happily too sunny natured to be aggressive. She 
was open in her admiration of Ruth Endicott, and declared 
herself on all occasions that young person’s sworn ally; she 
was fond, however, of so many things that people took her 
enthusiasms at a discount; but her brother-in-law, that was 
to be, an army officer brimful of good humor, declared that 
he had won his fiancee through keeping Evelyn up to a high- 
strung belief in his merits, for she influenced Nell, the 
third of the quartette, in the most decided fashion. Nell 
was the beauty of the family; so lovely in form and feature 
that it would seem little else need be demanded of her; but 
she was practically minded, and so averse to anything like 
“war’s alarms” that her choice of a soldier as a husband 
seemed surprising to everyone but the elder sister, who 
knew the story from the start. It was for Nell Derby 
that Mrs. Chesley had been busily engaged, and her wed- 
ding, to take place in Easter week, would be an event in 
their circle. The fourth and last of the band of sisters 


RUTH ENBICOTTB WAY, 


255 


laid claim to Ruth’s most tender sympathy. Delicate from 
birth, irritable from much suffering, high strung and full 
of talent, it seemed a hard fate which consigned her to a 
life of inaction, or enforced seclusion, most of the time. 
Siie was rarely to be seen beyond the threshold of her own 
room, or indeed away from her sofa, but Valerie Derby, 
named for a French relative, enjoyed holding quite a little 
court of her own at times, and ‘‘ St. Helen’s ” had proved 
an unmixed blessing to her life, while Ruth found her, 
even on her couch of suffering, a most efficient ally. 

The Derbys were more than grateful for this fact. 
Never had Valerie seemed so bright, so cheerful as since 
Ruth had begun to take her into her counsels for the 
“ Home,” and Eliza Macartney was really developing, as 
Robert Hargrave said, laughing, “ into a valuable citizen ” 
owing to Valerie’s and Ruth’s combined precept and 
example. 

The Merritts were still on Ruth’s mind, although 
Lucilla’s husband had been “bettered” in a business way, 
Ruth having appointed him book-keeper for “ St. Helens,” 
while she saw that various little comforts found their way 
to the young couple’s home. Ruth had heard of Mr. 
Merritt’s financial difficulties, and, in a covert way, sent aid 
to the family, but attempted no social intercourse. At 
that she “ drew the line.” In her own bright little home, 
friends found a cordial welcome ; Margaret had already 
quite a circle of her own, and Ruth was pleased to see the 
attitude, dignified, yet friendly and companionable, which 
she assumed with her various “boy” friends; youths 
Ruth and Robert Hargrave took good care should be suit- 
able “comrades” in the best sense of tlie word. And, 
what perhaps our heroine had most to rejoice over, her 
beloved Harriet was really induced to play the congenial 


256 


BUTE ENDICOTrS WAT. 


role of companion to her cherished pupil. If the chosen 
‘‘corner ” was not at all “ grandmotherly ” in its aspect, it 
was at least a favorite nook for many of Ruth’s visitors, 
and Miss Fellowes was rapidly forgetting she was ever 
tired with “verbs and declensions” — quite a “ frivolous” 
tendency, Ruth declared, had begun to show itself even in 
her dress, and Miss Fellowes actually blushed by herself 
to find she was looking and growing and feeling very 
young again ! Margaret’s developments had included one 
trait which Ruth was taking heroic measures to conquer 
and subdue. To give one farthing cost her positive 
anguish, and accordingly Ruth had appointed her one of 
a special 3^oung band of workers at St. Helen’s, part of 
whose duty was the expenditure of a fixed sum of money 
on their chosen protegees. There could be no hesitation 
over this. “Niggie” might groan in spirit, but she had 
to “ come to time ” with her donations, and it was aii}^- 
thing but consoling,” as she told Robert, with her most 
aggrieved air, to have Ruth calml)^ suggest that she spend 
a little less freely on candies and cakes at Pursell’s for a 
week or two ! But Ruth was still empress of her heart 
and adoration, and, since generosity was part of her scheme 
in life, Margaret felt she should try and emulate her to a 
certain degree, while, as Robert veiy justly said, people of 
Margaret’s temperament or nature have reall}^ twice the 
merit in giving which belongs to those to whom generosit}’' 
is part of their own pleasure and happiness in life. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


The visit to the ‘‘ Home ” proved entirelj’^ satisfactory ; 
Mrs. Kelsey liad found Mrs. Macartney useful in many 
ways, and the “ blunder ” Ruth had complained of Robert 
readily rectified. An over-zealous friend had tried to 
“ invade ” the premises for the purpose of “exliorting” 
the inmates — and for some reason had been successful 
in so far as collecting a dozen or so of the household, to 
whom he held forth on the supposed evil of their ways ! 
An indignation meeting followed. Once more Ruth had 
to make clear the non-sectarian, although eminently Chris- 
tian purpose of the Home, pointing out the fact that all 
the inmates were urged to attend on Sundaj^s their own 
place of worship, clergymen of every Christian denomina- 
tion visiting their “ own ” freely — no coercion, persuasion, 
or even invitation^ to join in any religious ceremony, being 
emploj’^ed, and, as a result, harmoin^ and friendliest feeling 
prevailed, while tlie pastors of various churches were 
counted as their warmest friends. 

“I think we have settled that difficulty once and for 
all,” Ruth said, as slm and Robert Hargrave left the house. 
“ It is just as well we have little ups and downs now 
and then. Friction is a good everywhere, isn’t it.” 

“Yes, provided it doesn’t rub away one’s finer polish,” 
assented Robert. “ By the way,” he added, turning sud- 
denly to look at his companion with unusual gravity, 
“ I’m meditating a start in life, which may give me more 

257 


258 


BUTH ENBICOTrS WAY, 


every-day friction than I’ll care for, and take me leagues 
awa}^” 

Rutli’s cheek joaled suddenly, hut she did not speak, and 
Robert, rather too conscious ot* her interest, went on rapidly: 

‘‘ I’ve had an offer to go to South America, to represent 
a first-class firm. I speak Spanish, you know, and under- 
stand a good deal of Spanish mercantile and banking busi- 
ness. It will take me away for a year, at least, perhaps 
two — what do you say ?” 

“ I ? ” Ruth found it impossible for an instant to answer ; 
a dozen tliouglits, feelings, ideas crowded upon her men- 
tal vision, but she was mainly conscious that sucli a step 
would take the brightest hours from her own life. Slie 
had dismissed the carriage at a shop not far from her 
home, and they were now turning the corner where she could 
see the last rays of wintry sunliglit on her own windows. 
Miss Fellowes and Margaret, slie knew, were at a matinee. 
There would be time to hear what Robert had to say 
before they returned. She forced lierself to composure, 
and said, looking at her companion with very gentle eyes, 

Come in, please, we can talk so much better there. I 
want to know all about it.” 

Hargrave’s pulses had quickened, to his own annoyance. 
That look into Ruth’s sweet face had not only empha- 
sized his own feeling, but given him sudden hope, opened 
to him, even though distantl}^, those portals he liad not 
dared to fancy he might reach. When they were in the 
pretty, quiet little library Ruth called “ her own,” she 
left him to lay aside her wraps. Robert stood b}^ the fire, 
gazing down, lost in thought. Had lie or had he not the 
right, he asked himself, to let her know something of what 
he was feeling, hoping, and as Ruth rejoined him the 
pallor of her face was answer enough. 


nUTH ENDICOTrS WAY. 


259 


I must not stay long, Ruth,” he said hurriedly. ^‘Two 
people will be waiting to know my decision in an hour — 
and after all,” — he came nearer and stood gazing intently 
upon her downcast face — “ When I come back again, 
will you be my wife ?” 

“ I — I am pledged to wait.” Ruth could say no more, 
her voice itself seemed to fail her, and she turned away. 

Hargrave for an instant misunderstood her meaning, 
applying the words to himself, but suddenly the truth 
flashed across his mind. 

Is it,” he spoke huskily, but looked at her so intently 
that Ruth was forced to return his glance, ‘‘my cousin ?” 
He said no more. Ruth bowed her head in silence. Pres- 
ently she said in a voice curiously unlike her own : 

“ Yes, I promised him to wait until his return. To 
pledge myself to no one until then.” 

The silence between them now seemed to Ruth endless, 
insupportable. Her bond with Hargrave which had un- 
consciously grown shadowy, unreal, now reasserted it- 
self with fresh claim on her generosit}", tenderness, and 
gratitude, while every fibre in her heart seemed to cry out 
against this new and bewildering pain. If only Robert 
Avould speak, even though he blamed her in any way. 

“I understand,” he said at last, “and I must say no 
more.” He waited. Long afterward, in the loneliness of a 
far western “ watch fire,” Robert Hargrave recalled details 
of that moment, the pretty, fire-lit room, shadowy with 
twilight glowing here and there ; Ruth’s motionless figure ; 
her sweet, beseeching face ; her gaze uplifted to his with 
something in it which he carried away — a treasured 
memory. 

“ Good-by then, Ruth,” he went on, “and now,” he drew 
nearer, taking both her lifeless little hands in his* “I will 


260 


RUTH ENDICOTT'S WAY, 


not even say, my dear , — thinJc of me — but God knows — 
no other woman shall ever come between j^ou and my 
heart ! Yes, I do sa}’^, I must say — think of me, some- 
times, and God keep you ! ” 

When the mist seemed to have gone from her e^^es, Ruth 
was alone — how %iUerly alone she could not, dared not 
trust herself to think ! 


CHAPTER XL. 


Peter Merritt left the elevated station at Forty-second 
Street, bolding his hand to his head, trying to be sure of 
the street and number lie was to find. 

“Near a park,” he half muttered. 'What had come over 
him ! People had illnesses come on them like this ! 
Strokes ! Was he going to be stricken down, he wondered, 
physically as he felt he had been financially ? What was it 
he had on his mind, the man asked himself, which Ruth Endi- 
cott was to know. And then he reached the tall apart- 
ment house, where he had been told he would find her, and, 
touching the bell, nerved himself to make the enquiry and 
enter the elevator at the bell-boy’s invitation. 

‘‘Miss Endicott ! ” The maid ushered him into the 
room Robert Hargrave had just quitted, and where Ruth 
was standing motionless — still inert. 

Peter Merritt’s bewilderment seemed to increase, he 
gazed about him, and looking at Ruth, smiled faintly. 

“ Mr. Merritt ! ” she exclaimed, starting forward. “Why, 
you are ill.” 

“ No,” he spoke huskily, and rested his hand on a chair, 
“Ruth — there, let me sit down. I — I — want you to get 
me away. Do you hear ? I must get away. You must 
help me.” 

“ Away ! ” Ruth instinctively crossed the room and 
closed the door. 

“ Why, what is it? What have you ” she hesitated 

and added, bending over the trembling figure, “ What is 

261 


262 


RUTH ENDICOTr 8 WAY. 


the matter she said in a low but determined voice. 
‘‘ What have you done ? ” 

His lips moved with no sound for an instant. Then he 
said, in the tone of one speaking out of a sleep, 

“ I — sold — the bonds — her name — Lydia’s, you know — 
and the money is gone ! Gone ! ” He waved his arms 
feebly in the air. “ Forgery, that’s what it is — I must get 
away ! ” 

Ruth was for an instant fairly paralyzed with horror 
and bewilderment, but in the next she realized that action 
of some kind at once was an absolute, imperative necessity ! 
Only what could she do ! To whom in such an emergency 
could she turn ? Oh, if only Robert had but delayed an 
hour longer ! Tlien, suddenly, Lucilla came into her 
mind. 

‘^Mr. Merritt ! ” she said hurriedly, and taking the man’s 
limp hand in hers, ‘‘ You must do jui>t as I sa}", if I am to 
help you ! Do you understand ? ” 

He nodded his head, not moving his eyes from her face. 

“ Stay here until I put on my things. Then we will go 
at once to Lucilla’s. She is your daughter. You can stay 
there safely, until we know what can be done.” 

He understood. Clouded as his brain felt, he knew that 
Ruth was acting for his interest, and in five minutes she 
had come back, in as many more they were going out into 
the wintry street, Ruth holding his hand as if he was a 
sick child to be led by her. 

Not a word was exchanged between them until Lucilla’s 
doorway was reached. Then Ruth said only : 

“ You must not try to talk, Mr. Merritt. I will tell her.” 

And a moment more Lucilla herself admitted them. 

“Why, she exclaimed. “ Why, Ruth Endicott ! 

Whatever ! Wh}^, come m ! What has happened ? ” 


RUTH ENDICOTT^S WAY, 


263 


I will explain it,” said Rutli quickly. ‘‘ Don’t you see, 
Lucilla, dear. Your father is ill.” 

And briefly, how she never quite knew, Ruth made the 
daughter understand their disgrace ! 

White to the lips, Lucilla listened; stone could not have 
seemed more motionless, and for a moment Ruth feared 
that there could be no relenting toward the father who had 
stooped to crime, but at last, with Ruth, she realized some 
measures must be promptly taken, the first being a summons 
to Jerry, who was at this hour sure to be, as Lucilla said, 
‘‘ in his office.” 

The interval of waiting, to both girls seemed endless. 
Mr. Merritt, made comfortable, though without a word or 
endearing touch by Lucilla, on the lounge, slept as peace- 
fully as though sin was unknown, detection to be scorned, 
and at last Jerry’s step was heard — he was with them and 
Lucilla flung herself weeping into his arms. 

After all, thought Ruth, Lucilla had not reckoned on 
the manliness of her ‘‘Lochinvar ” in vain, for, in spite of 
his disgust, Jeriy took a clear common-sense view of the 
situation and at once decided that legal advice must be 
obtained. 

‘‘ Wh}^ not Mr. Pearson himself ?” said Ruth, to whom 
Hargrave’s lawyer represented all that was sterling in legal 
prudence and lore. 

‘‘Yes,” assented Jeny, picking up his hat, “I’ll tele- 
graph and start right along.” 

“ And ma ? ” said Lucilla. “ Isn’t she to know ? ” 

“Not 3^et. See here!” Jerry approached the sleeper 
and bending over him, raised his face in alarm, “ Guess 
I’d better fetch the doctor first,” he said, looking at Ruth 
gravel 

And so it proved. The nearest physician who could be 


264 


RUTH ENDIGOTTS WAY. 


summoned pronounced the unfortunate man suffering from 
an attack of congestion of the brain, what miglit prove 
paresis, and advised prompt removal to the hospital. 

“ He needs care from skilled nurses,” the doctor averred. 
“ Ot* course, you can pay his board, you know, and see to 
everything, but it’s a case for a hospital without an hour’s 
delay.” 

Was it, thought Ruth, as preparations were hurriedly 
made for removing the stricken man, not a merciful Provi- 
dence ? Death even was surely preferable to the life 
which must be ahead of him? And Lucilla’s tearless eyes 
told that she, too, was following the same train of thought. 
Once she bent over him tenderly, said in a half whisper : 
“ Poor pa ! ” and kissed his marble-like cheek, but there 
was no further demonstration. Ruth held her hand closely 
while they stood in the window, watching the cab sum- 
moned drive away, in which the doctor, Jerry, and their 
patient were seated, but what consolation but her presence 
and silent sympathy could she offer ? 

‘‘ And now ! ” said Lucilla, turning her white, set face 
back to Ruth’s, as the cab disappeared from view, “There’s 
ma, now, will have to know it.” 


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CHAPTER XLT. 


Late one wintry afternoon Miss Fellowes and Margaret 
sat by the cheerful fire in Ruth’s little drawing-room, wait- 
ing anxiously for the first sound of her return from tlie 
now daily journey to St. Mark’s Hospital where Mr. Merritt 
still lingered between life and death. 

“There!” exclaimed Margaret, springing to her feet. 
“She is home at last.” And in the same moment, Ruth, 
looking pale and unusually depressed, appeared. She was 
silent wdiile little Margaret helped her to lay aside her 
wraps, then she said in a voice full of emotion : 

“ Harriet, it is over ! he died with poor Mrs. Chesley’s 
liand in his ! She has been so faithful in her ministra- 
tions ! He told her everything. No one is to blame but 
himself, he declares, so we can be at rest about the 
Powers’ ! ” 

“Dead !” Harriet’s awe-struck voice was the last audi- 
ble sound for several moments. Margaret clung to Ruth 
in a sort of nervous fright, but said nothing. 

“ And now, there must be something done, at once, with 
or for the family. They have the house and what is in it 
— that is all — and fortunately, it stands in Mrs. Merritt’s 
name. Harriet, will you get me a cup of tea, dearest, and 
send for Kate Beckwith. She will attend to everything 
for me.” 

Both requests were speedily complied with, and Miss 
Beckwith made haste to answer her beloved friend’s sum- 
mons, undertaking to call for Lucilla and proceed with her 

265 


266 


RUTH ENDICOTrS WAY. 


to the house of mourning,” which, indeed, it was justly 
to be called, death not only to be lamented by those who, 
however hidden the husband and father’s crime miirht be 
from the world, knew they had his sin to grieve over more 
than his untimely — or was it timely — end. 

“ See to whatever they need,” had been Ruth’s parting 
injunction. “Tell Lucilla to consult Mrs. Chesley and 
give her the bills for me.” 

Miss Beckwith found the once despised “ poor relation ” 
already with Lucilla, trying as best she could to console 
her for what she felt more as a disgrace than a loss, and 
understanding from Ruth’s sealed note that Miss Beckwith 
knew only of the “ bereavement,” Lucilla allo\ved herself to 
revive sufficiently to talk over with them all what had best 
be done, finally to accompany Ruth’s emmissary to her 
mother’s, where she promptly took everything into her 
own hands, even Samuel allowing liimself to be dictated to 
by the member of the family who, as a married woman 
and Ruth’s “ friend,” seemed to be in authority, while Mrs. 
Chesley was received as though the time for “ scorning” 
her had never been. 

Poor Mrs. Merritt could only submit to doing as she was 
told that day, and on the melancholy but busy ones that 
followed. Mr. Pearson was persuaded by Ruth into “set- 
tling” up the business matters of the family, and after 
some discussion it was decided that, if Lucilla and Jerry 
would agree, a small house could be taken and furnished by 
them with a view toward maintaining the helpless members 
of the family by letting out the best rooms, and Mrs. 
Chesley was proud to be able to promise some desirable 
tenants from among her new patrons. 

Lydia Underwood, in some fashion known onlj'’ to Ruth 
and Mr. Pearson, had withdrawn her claim against Mr. 


RUTH ENDICOTT. 


267 


Merritt, and agreed to be silent on the subject, while the 
Powers family, satisfied that Margaret’s fortune was intact, 
were equally amenable to reason. 

All necessary details had been written to Mr. Hargrave, 
and from Robert came a long, anxious, but Ruth was com- 
pelled to admit, yQvj brotherly kind of a letter, advising 
her to be guided thoroughly by Mr. Pearson and not do 
anything “quixotic” — adding that, if she had time, he 
would consider it a favor to have her visit his father now 
and again. 

Needless to say Ruth all too gladly heeded this request. 
Mr. Hargrave had two rooms in an old-fashioned house on 
East Tenth Street, which were always scrupulously neat, 
although necessarily plain ; his landlady, a kind-hearted 
woman of the class to whom refinement such as Mr. Har- 
grave’s appeals as something to be intensely respected, 
feeling it, as she often observed, an “ honor” to have such 
a “real” gentleman as an inmate of her little home. 
And Ruth was in her eyes almost like the princess in a 
fairy tale. Although not openly mentioned, Mrs. Rolles 
quite understood that Mr. Hargrave, Jr., was more than a 
mere friend to Miss Endicott, and accordingly she was pre- 
pared to treat her on all occasions as the future daughter- 
in-law of her lodger, while the very fact of the old gentle- 
man having such a lovely young creature as a prospective 
relative increased her consideration even for the few whims 
and fancies he permitted himself to indulge in. 

A friendship had sprung up between our heroine and 
old Mr. Hargrave which, independent of its origin, proved 
one of the happiest features of her daily life, and, like all 
else, it was duly communicated to the traveller beyond the 
seas. 

“ Even though I had nothing else to be grateful for in 


268 


RUTH ENDICOTT, 


our knowledge of each other,” she wrote once to Robert, 
‘‘ I would thank you for the privilege of knowing yonv 
dear father. His nature is so fine, so free from all that 
is petty or unworthy, my hours with him are precious 
beyond description, and, best of all, lie offers me an element 
I find too often lacking in my social life. It is not only 
that his Christian faith is so perfect, but he has such a 
wonderful power of setting forth in an acceptable, a C 07 i~ 
vincing light all its sublimest truths. He leads me, almost 
unconsciously, into touch with the very highest of Christ’s 
meanings, yet does not weigh me down with a sense of iny 
own unworthiness. Rather do I feel that, being fashioned 
in His image and likeness, I have the right to aspire to 
greater and greater rights each day. Did I tell you that 
I am going with Nell Derby to sing in a performance of the 
‘Messiah,’ which S., the famous conductor, is getting 

up at the M Opera-house, next month ? Do not be 

startled. I have not the most remote idea of embracing a 
public career of any kind, but this is an opportunity for 
combining admirable instruction with the delight of feel- 
ing one’s self part of that grand movement of sound and 
harmony. They lift one so far above all that is merely 
of the ‘ earth earthy,’ and the choruses are like a prayer 
and a psean of thanksgiving together.” 

Spring came early that year. Her touch, delicately 
vernal, was in every tree and shrub one morning when Ruth 
set out for one of the final rehearsals of the oratorio. 
She had agreed to meet Nell Derby at the stage entrance 
of the Metropolitan Opera-house and arrived at that 
rather dark entrance with unusual life and animation 
showing itself in her heightened color and the sparkle of 
her soft gray e3^es. As she paused to give her number to 
the doorkeeper, a figure, half in shadow, started forward, 


BUTE ENDIGOTT 


269 


then drew back, and Ruth walked on — all unconscious of 
the yearning gaze which followed her — until she had dis- 
appeared on to the stage, already more than half filled by 
the singers who awaited the appearance of Herr Von 
Werkeraan, their leader. The figure came out into clearer 
view now — a tall young man, bronzed by travel, grown 
older, more mature, it would seem, in various ways, by the 
wide experiences of the past few months, but unmistak- 
ably Robert Hargrave. 

‘‘ I liave a permit,” he explained to the doorman, ‘‘ to 
go around in front and wait for Miss Endicott. Will you 
kindly direct me ? ” 

The doorman could not leave his post, but a guide 
was easily found and Hargrave ushered into one of the 
vacant boxes nearest the stage. In spite of the fact 
that two hundred ladies and gentleman were seated upon 
it, Robert speedily found the one face and figure he 
was watching for ; found it, to look upon it with such 
a deep-drawn sigh of satisfaction that the period of 
'waiting, the enforced absence, seemed forgotten once and 
for all. 

Never will Hargrave hear the strains of Handel’s wonder- 
ful, soul-inspired music without recalling the intense happi- 
ness of that one supreme hearing of it when Ruth, who 
was one of the first four sopranos, rose, to let her fresh, 
young voice reach straight to one unseen listener’s soul as 
she sang, O thou that tellest good tidings to Zion.” 
When the conductor, putting down his baton, said, with 
impressive gravity : ‘‘ Miss Endicott, as much volume as 

possible, if you please ; and remember not to increase the 
tempo , Robert found it well-nigh impossible, at sound of 
her name, not to betray himself, but he could not disturb 
her until the business of the liour was ended ; then his 


270 


BUTH ENDICOTT. 


impatience over her delay in leaving almost became audi- 
ble. At last she had left the stage. He waited no longer, 
but made all haste back to the side entrance, just outside 
of which he stood with quickly beating heart, to meet the 
first sound of her footstep on the little stair. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


Ruth ! ” 

The sound of her name, in tlie dearly familiar voice, sent 
the blood flying into Ruth’s cheek, dyeing it crimson, but 
in an instant she strove for composure, Robert almost 
frightened by her emotion. 

Have I startled you ? ” he said with infinite tenderness, 
and drawing her hand through his arm, led her as quickly 
as possible to a cab in waiting. I had no time even to 
cable. I came at an hour’s notice. Now, my child, let 
me look at you, let me realize you are once more — in my 
keeping ! ” 

“But, Robert,” Ruth was smiling faintly, but very 
tremulous still, “ what does it mean ? It seems too good 
to be true. How have you managed it ? It is all so won- 
derful ! ” 

Robert’s expression was very grave now, but he spoke 
with the same anxiety to keep her from being unnerved. 

“ Your cousin sent me, Ruth,” he said gently. “ My 
dear, we will have him with us no more. When he knew 
the end was approaching, he wrote out the most distinct 
instructions. His last thought, his last written word, was 
for you. His last message was to bid my wooing of you 
prosper, for it had Ms blessing.” 

Ruth dared not trust herself to speak for a moment. 
She could only press Robert’s hand more closely, and at 
last said, “ When ” 

“ The last came only just before I landed here. He 

271 


272 


BUTE ENDICOTT. 


knew it must come very quickly, but I only had the news 
this morning. Later I will read with you Gregson’s long 
letter. Thank God, he was perfectly content ! A life of 
suffering, such as they said was all he could ever hope for, 
would have been intolerable, and lie set his house in order. 
He found peace of the highest sort. It was all calm and 
as he would have liked. He made everything perfectly 
clear, perfectly satisfactory in his will, and Ruth, you are 
entirely free, my dearest. There is no need for any self- 
sacrifice” — he smiled gently. ‘‘We are simply his joint 
heirs, after certain bequests, with no restriction of any kind 
whatever. His delicacy was perfect.” 

“Am I — free?” she looked at him with troubled eyes. 

“ Absolutely. But — once more I renew my bond.” 

She laid her fingers lightly on his lips. 

“We have no need of that, Robert ! I can only say, as 
I have so many times, God grant I may be worthy of his 
legacy and your love and name ! ” 


CHAPTER XLIII. 


It was, no doubt, as well for the composure of those 
mainly interested in the new turn of affairs that during 
the next few weeks business matters connected with John 
Hargrave’s will, as well as Robert’s own matters, were 
sufficiently engrossing to prevent the excitement, which 
would otherwise have been disturbing to the well-being of 
all concerned. 

To begin with, a sort of general council was held at 
Mr. Pearson’s office, during which the preliminaries were 
gone through with whereby Ruth and Robert were ac- 
knowledged as John Hargrave’s heirs, and Ruth, driving 
homeward, was really glad to be, for a time at least, alone 
to consider the new responsibilities of her position. Robert 
had been obliged to accompany Mr. Pearson on a short 
trip into the country, where certain people had to be inter- 
viewed, and Ruth entered her little home unusually pre- 
occupied, and yet conscious of nothing so much as her 
feeling of complete satisfaction. It was better than exul- 
tation, it argued something more lasting for the future. 
As she lifted Wiq portiere between the libraiy and drawing- 
room some one turned quickly from the embrasure of the 
window, and Ruth recognized the objectionable Clinty. 

“ I don’t suppose I’m welcome^ Miss Endicott,” he said, 
with a forced laugh, which scarcely covered up his embar- 
rassment ; “ yet, after all, it’s in its way a compliment, 
my coming to you.” 

Ruth had indicated a chair for her unbidden guest, while 

273 


274 


RUTH ENDICOTT. 


she seated herself in one at as great a distance as possible, 
and Clinty continued : 

“You see, I’ve a chance for a little, well — start in busi- 
ness. It’s in the horse line, so to speak — the only tiling, 
I’ve concluded, I’il ever earn my salt at. It’s to go out on 
a ranch — perfectly square deal — I’m willing to let anyone 
enquire into it.” As he hesitated with a certain confusion 
of manner, Ruth said very calmly : 

“ And I presume some capital is required ?” 

He brightened visibly. “ Why, you are smart, and no 
mistake,” he exclaimed. “ Pity you’ve jour sex to keep 
you down !” he added, with genuine compassion. “Yes, 
Miss Endicott, that’s about the size of it. If 3"ou see your 
way to a moderate advance. I’ll give you all the security 
and interest I can.” 

“1^0,” said Ruth slowly ; “if I consider anything of the 
kind, Mr. Powers, please bear in mind it will not be with 
any expectation of profiting by it. I am glad to see you 
thinking of employment. If my advisers, 11137- law3^er and 
Mr. Robert Hargrave, approve, I am perfectlj^^ willing to 
give 3"ou the start in life 3^011 desire — 01113^ remember, I 
shall expect 3^ou to make it profitable to 3"ourself.” 

“ You’re a trump ! ” exclaimed Clinty reall3", and as 
deeply as his nature would permit, touched by Ruth’s gen- 
erosit3^ “I won’t make you sony for it. Now, then, I’ve 
only a few da37^s to take or leave the offer. When can I 
see your man of business ? ” 

Evidently the scholarly Clinty was fast developing busi- 
ness abilit37’, as Ruth discovered, when, during the next 
half hour, they went a little more deepl3^ into his plans for 
the future. And greatl3^ to her satisfaction, our heroine 
found the young man really business-like, while the letters, 
etc., he produced from a well-worn wallet, which he had 


BUTE ENDICOTB 


275 


carried to so many race- tracks, proved that the venture 
offered a genuine employment, quite independent of mere 
buying and selling. He was to take charge, with two 
others, of a ranch in Texas ; investing a small amount with 
a view to a partnership later. 

Promising to consult her lawyer at once, Ruth brought 
the interview to a close, after which she felt free to seek 
out Miss Fellows, who was, in spite of her genuine sym- 
pathy for and with Ruth’s happiness, rather doleful at the 
thought of losing her beloved friend and companion, even 
for a time. 

‘‘ But, Harriet,” declared Ruth, with all the gayety of 
manner she could assume, “ you know, dear, it is only for 
a few months, and there will be so much to write each 
other about. Remember, I expect the very fullest of 
journal letters. Nothing must seem too trivial when you 
are writing, for every little item will be of supreme interest 
to me. You must look up everything I leave undone and 
attend to it, rii}^ dear ” 

Ruth broke off rather unexpectedly. Severely calm as 
Harriet forced her expression to be, something in it so 
responded 'to Ruth’s own sentiment in parting that she saw 
a change of subject was advisable for both sides. 

“ That precious Clinty Powers is to be started in busi- 
ness,” she said, with undue energy of manner. “ Harriet ! 
TIarriet ! Mr. Hargrave’s mission is more or less perplexing 
on all sides. I caimot lose sight, nor does Robert wish me 
to, of his fortune being in a great part a trust. There are 
so many people and matters to consider.” 

Harriet smiled. 

“ And as for yourself? Ruth, don’t 3"OU think, my dear, 
:you can drop philanthropy just long enougli to remember 
we all want your wedding day to be bright and happy— 


2*76 


RUTH ENDICOTT 


and — wo, Pm not going to be foolish — but just what it 
ought to be. Have you forgotten your old fondness for 
seeing people enjoy themselves ? Why not let everyone 
share your happiness now ? ” 

Never in all of their close and loving intercourse had 
Harriet Fellows made any speech so tinged with senti- 
ment, and, after gazing at her for an instant in silence, 
Ruth flung her arms about her old friend’s neck, and 
kissing her and half crying at the same time, said in the 
very fashion of her old school-day confidences, “ Harriet, 
it’s just what 1 do w^ant ! I never felt younger or brighter 
or gladder in some ways ; only it seemed some way as 
though I had no right to be thinking just of myself or 
ourselves ! ” 


CHAPTER XLIV. 


There ! I am sure I heard a carriage stop ! ” 

Valerie Derby raised herself upright in he** couch and 
spoke with feverish impatience to her maid. 

“Miss Endicott would never disappoint me,” she went 
on; “no matter what happened.” 

“ And here she comes, miss ! ” exclaimed the girl, smil- 
ing broadly, as the portUre was drawn back, revealing 
Ruth’s figure. 

“ Ruth ! Ruth Endicott, dearest ! ” murmured Valerie, 
but as Ruth bent down to receive and return her embrace, 
she added a little wistfully, “Xo, not Endicott any longer ! 
Ruth Hargrave ! ” 

“ Yes, dear, you are almost the first to call me so ! So, 
Valerie, it is over, this wonderful wedding we have all 
planned for ! And really, dear, apart from any sentiment 
in the matter, it was very pretty. So simple, so free from 
anything like display, and yet thoroughly charming. 
And how are you feeling after 3"esterday’s confusion?” 

“ Better than ever. Now, Ruth, I dare not keep j’^ou 
longer. They will be waiting for 3^011. There ! ” As 
again the curtains were parted, this time by Robert Har- 
grave himself. 

“ Miss Valerie, where my wife comes, may I be allowed 
to follow?” said the young man cheerily. “You have 
been such a good counsellor in our affairs, I feel as though 
your good wishes to-day ought to come first.” 

“Be good to her,” said Valerie genth^, her dark eyes 
fastened upon liis face. “That is all I ask for losing her.” 

277 


278 


RUTH ENDICOTT. 


“ For holding her,” said Robert quickl3^ Tlie new tie 
must loosen no old ones — rather strengthen and protect 
them. Ruth and I have made man}" a plan for our new 
life, but notliing in the past which was wortliy a place shall 
be, please God, shut out of ray wife’s future.” 

In tlie drawing-room below an animated company, dis- 
persed in various groups, were discussing the morning’s 
event and “the Hargraves’” plans for the future. Mar- 
garet Powers, beaming with satisfaction, was informing 
two or three of her own particular friends what Ruth and 
her Imsband meant to do after tlieir trip West. 

“ The old house is to be all refitted,” Margaret announced, 
“ and Miss Fellows is to have charge of it — me and her. I 
mean, she and I*,” said the young girl, coloring. “ And when 
they come back they’ll have a lovely time for all of us, you 
may be sure, for it’s no matter whether Ruth’s nanie is 
Endicott or Hargrave, she can’t help being lovely to every- 
body.” 

“ And now, to-day, what was it someone said they were 
going to do ? ” enquired a “Derby cousin,” who had been 
invited to the wedding. 

Margaret winced slightly, as there xcas a part of the 
day’s programme which did not quite meet her views, 
socially speaking. 

“ Oh ! it’s to make a little visit to an institution they 
started,” said Margaret, with as careless an air as possible, 
and the subject was allowed to drop. But could her 
questioner have followed the young bride and groom an 
hour or two later, when, after the pleasant, informal break- 
fast, they were driven away from Mrs. Derby’s hospitable 
door, I think surprise would have been greater even than 
curiosity. 

For Ruth and Robert, by previous arrangement, drove 


RUTH ENDICOTT, 


279 


at once to the doorway of St. Helen’s, where Mrs. Chesley 
liad preceded them, and where they were received by 
Mrs. Kelsey and her “boarders,” raetaphoricall}^, with open 
arms. A bounteous repast had been served to the mem- 
bers of Mrs. Kelsey’s “ family ” and several invited guests, 
Lucilla Berkman and her faithful Jeremiah delighting in 
doing the honors; while, reversing the usual order of such a 
day, everyone had been the recipient of a present, chosen 
for each individual by Ruth herself. The Macartney 
family were on hand in full force. Ruth and her liusband 
chatted brightly first with one, then another, discussing 
their own plans with sweetest familiarity, and went away 
after such a vigorous hand-shaking and amid so many 
“ God-speeds ” that it seemed, as Ruth said, as though there 
were benedictions in the very air. Old Mr. Hargrave had 
remained at Mr. Derby’s, but his new daughter and her 
husband stopped in his rooms long enough to leave a little 
note and a small gift for him to find on his return, and 
then came their own first quiet hour together. Robert 
had seen that no comfort, no luxury of travel, should be 
wanting on the Pullman car which was to speed them 
along their first journe^^ in life together. The salon was 
literally a bower of roses and heliotrope. Everything 
that the combined intelligence of Miss Derby, Lucilla, and 
himself could devise had been introduced to make it home- 
like and beautiful, and when they sat down, at last alone 
together, Ruth’s heart was almost too full to make speech 
possible — yet was it not a silence which her husband could 
thoroughly understand and sj^mpathize with ? And so the 
train rushed out into the wintry dusk; if leaving home in 
one sense behind, at least bearing them to a new one which 
was more distinctly their own, because they were to enter 
it for the first time as man and wife, together. 


CHAPTER XLV. 


Are yon all alone, raa ? ” 

Lucilla was the speaker, one fine morning in April, nearly 
a year after the event recorded in our last chapter. 

‘‘Alone?” said Mrs. Merritt, lifting rather weak eyes 
from the book she was reading. “ Yes; aint I most always 
so, ’Cilia?” 

“ Oh, well ! you know you’ve the lodgers to see to. 
They’re a sight better than boarders ; they’re company in 
one sense and not in another. How’s things generally?” 

Mrs. Berkman seated herself in a rocking-chair, in the 
window opposite her mother, and glanced about the room 
critically, but not with disapproval. 

There would indeed have been small cause for any com- 
plaint. Simple as were its appointments, the room, a front 
basement of a new house into which, by Ruth’s agency, the 
remnant of the Merritt family had moved, was furnished 
with every comfort, and if a trifle gaudy in color, it suited 
the tastes of the family preciselj^, while, as some tempting 
odors from the kitchen beyond suggested, there was no 
lack of savory cooking with which to regale Sammy on 
his return from the labors he still considered almost too 
arduous even for his incomparable ability and strength. 

Sammy was now “practising ” as a fully fledged M. D., 
but in partnership with a down-town physician, so that, 
much to his mother’s regret, liis “shingle” could not 
decorate her front door. Still it was much to speak, how- 
ever casuallj’’, of “iny son,” or “my brother, tlie doctor,” 

280 


RUTH ENDICOTT 


281 


and I need scarcely add that no occasion was overlooked 
when he could be introduced into the conversation. Mrs. 
Merritt had really not minded very much an attack of 
influenza which Samuel pronounced i\\e mo%t dangerous 
form of grippe,” because her son had, to use the family 
expression, “ pulled her through ” it. There was a re- 
flected glory in having a medical man for a relative who 
could do such deeds, and the whole neighborhood thrilled 
to the recital of the maid of all work of the one‘‘orful” 
night when “Missis very near went right orf, only the 
doctor, he got her through.” 

Lucilla alone held herself somewhat aloof from this 
atmosphere of adulation of Dr. Samuel and his far-famed 
successes. She and Jeremiah had privately decided it 
placed their position in the family as too secondary a one, 
and accordingly, although always kindly, even affectionate 
in her manner toward her mother, the married daughter 
of the house preserved a studied calm, verging on indif- 
ference, when Samuel was mentioned, and bore herself 
with a chilling sort of repose when in his presence, which, 
if it aggravated the young doctor, spurred him on to newer 
flights of rhetoric in recounting the latest thing he and 
Dr. Brower had accomplished. 

“ How’s things generally, did you say, Lucilla ? ” said 
her mother, laying aside her book and her glasses. “ Oh, 
pretty much as usual ! I find this new girl does much 
better than that Mary Simpson, only they’ll all waste, if 
you let ’em. Sam says she spends twice as much as she 
need to.” 

“ Then I’d tell Sam he’d better change his board in g- 
liouse,” said Lucilla ])romptly. “I tell you what it is, ma, 
you let Sam boss a great deal too much. He’d better not 
try on his airs when HuMs around.” 


282 


BUTE ENDICOTT. 


exclaimed Mrs. Merritt, witli a little jump. 

Why, what do you mean ? ” 

Lucilla smiled very blandly, especially as the sound of 
her brother’s latch-key was just then to be heard in the 
upper door. 

Oh, yes ! ” she went on cheerfully, “I’d a few lines from 
her the other day ” (Lucilla did not mention that Ruth’s 
main object in writing had been a matter connected with 
St. Helen’s). “ And may be she’ll come home to-day ; 
anyhow very soon.” 

“Dear! dear! anything wrong in Mr. Hargrave’s 
business?” Mrs. Merritt had learned to expect financial 
disaster at any moment. 

“ Why, I rather guess scorned her daughter. 

“ Robert Hargrave aint one of the kind of men that gets 
iwto business scrapes — not much! He leaves that sort of 
thing to peo[)le like your friend Clinty Powers. By the 
way, heard from the fair Lydia lately?” 

“No,” snapped Mrs. Merritt, “and I don’t want to. 
This aint telling me why Ruth’s coming home.” 

“ Oh, I’ll get there ! It seems the lawyer advises their 
residing part of every year in New York, on account of 
the Hargrave property. So it’s to be fixed that Avay. 
Ruth, it seems, is coming on alone this time, for her husband 
has to make a trip farther West, somewheres she can’t go. 
They’re to open the old house. Ruth’s set me a task or 
two, and I’d better be starting, I guess. I just thought I’d 
look in and let you know. Oh ” — as the door opened on 
the doctor — “ there you are, Sammy. I’m just going, you 
see, but ma’ll tell you my news. Well, r/ood-hy ! ” And 
scarcely waiting to more than observe Sam’s stare of in- 
dignant surprise, Lucilla swept out of the room and was 
soon hastening toward Mr. Hargrave’s old home; every 


RUTH ENDICOTT. 


283 


pulse beating to happiest measure at thought of Ruth’s 
return. 

Prosperity — at least success, I had better say — in life had 
made Lucilia Berkinan a really fine woman and a model 
wife. Certain peculiarities of nature would of course go 
unchanged to the end of the chapter, but she fulfilled all 
Ruth’s aspiration and hope for her, thereby more than 
repaying our heroine for any kindness she had been able to 
bestow. Even Peter, her brother — who was no longer 
called ‘‘ the Second ” — admitted his sister’s superiority and 
had dropped his former tone of patronage, while he had paid 
the Berkrnans the highest compliment in his power when 
he introduced to them his future bride, Miss Sophy Wil- 
bur; a young lady, as he facetiously put it, of “ floricultural 
parentage,” being no other than the daughter of the Mr. 
Wilbur who had known all about Ruth Endicott’s father, 
and who, he distinctly announced, was 7iot to be intro- 
duced at home until the wedding day drew near. 

Lucilia was at present “chaperoning ” Miss Wilbur on a 
visit to New York, the young lady having her wedding 
shopping to do ; and there was deep satisfaction on this 
occasion in calling for her at the prominent dry goods 
store where Sophy had been waiting an hour or more, and 
then conducting her, in a sort of state, so to speak, to the 
fine, dignified old mansion soon to be Ruth Hargrave’s 
home. 

The care-taker, one of the women formerly at St. 
Helen’s, admitted the ladies with a broad smile of satisfac- 
tion, accounted for when a door on the upper landing 
opened suddenly, and at the head of the stairs Ruth her- 
self appeared. 

As she came down the wdde, shallow steps, Lucilia 
uttered a cry of delight, and forgetting all her airs and 


284 


BUTE ENDICOTT. 


graces, her carefully prepared conventional greeting, with 
which she had hoped to impress Ilutli, flew toward her, 
eager to embrace her, to feel sure that she was really there. 

“ Oh, Ruth, Ruth ! I am glad ! ” was all she could con- 
trive to say ; and then the stranger was remembered, 
brought forward, introduced, and most cordially welcomed ; 
after which, while they all went up to the flne, old-fash- 
ioned drawing-room, Ruth explained that she had arrived 
a few hours earlier than she had expected, and had come 
directly ‘‘ home.” 

For 3^ou see,” she said, wdth her old bright smile, even 
though Robert cannot be with us, he made it very clear I 
was to have a genuine house-warming at once. Every one 
of our old friends must be invited. I have already sent 
word to Miss Daintrey, and she and as many as she likes of 
the girls are to come down, and Miss Fellows has already 
put things well in train.” 

The visitors agreed it was simply too delightful, and 
presently, when they had been conducted upstairs into 
Ruth’s old room, to lay aside their wraps, Ruth went away 
down to tlie small book- room, where Miss Fellows and 
Mrs. Cliesley were deep in a consultation as to how the 
various guests were to be disposed of. 

Ruth,” laughed Harriet, as the fair young mistress of 
the house stood behind her chair, resting one hand affec- 
tionately on Harriet’s shoulder, ‘‘ this is almost as — wliat 
shall I say — cosmopolitan a gathering as your wedding 
brought together ; but I don’t doubt it will be harmo- 
nious.” 

Oh, we have our calm, aristocratic company first,” said 
Ruth quickly. “ You know that will be for the first even- 
ing. The next is for all my particular friends, and Lucilla 
Berkman and her friend Miss Wilbur, I feel sure, will be 


BUTE ENDIGOTT. 


285 


the best allies in the world. Now then, Cousin Jane, how 
many of your girls can be here to-morrow ? When our 
entertaining is all over, Harriet, you and I and Mrs. Ches- 
ley can settle down to a nice, quiet little visiting time of 
our own.” 

Late that night, when the great house was still, everyone 
within it but the mistress asleep, Ruth, who had dismissed 
her own attendant, a Western girl devoted to the Har- 
graves, sat down to write her husband some word of this 
first home-coming. 

“ If there was a little pain at re-entering the house he 
had left,” she wrote to Robert, “ yet there has been more 
than my full meed of satisfaction. You cannot think, 
dear Robert, how many people we can make happy in 
their own several ways, and at the same time have our own 
measure of content full to overflowing. Sitting here to- 
night, I have calmly reviewed the events of the past few 
years, seeing God’s hand in such marvellous guidance that 
it would frighten me lest I prove unworthy ; but that I 
know you will help me to do my part in fulfilling dear John 
Hargrave’s trust. . . You will like to know how all our 
friends are. St. Helen’s prospers finely. The Beckwiths 
are very happy. Mary is nearly as strong as slie will ever 
be. Eliza Macartney, although still madly devoted to 
the latest craze in fashion, is a really good dressmaker, 
earning well, and proud to assist her younger sisters and 
brothers. Lucilla and her dear Jeremiah are not only as 
happy as larks, but intensely proud of their two months’ 
old Jeremiah, who is possibly the plainest looking baby 
mortal eyes ever beheld, but sturdy, vigorous, red-haired, 
and already independent and self-assertive, as a child of 
Lucilla’s should be. Mrs. Merritt is making a success of 
her undertaking, and I hope to tone Peter the Second down 


236 


RUTH ENDICOTT 


sufficiently to make him a gentler ‘protector’ to his poor 
mother, wliile his fiancee seems a really sweet girl.” 

Ruth let her pen fall for a moment and sat gazing down 
into the depths of the coal fire before which she had been 
writing. There seemed little else to ask, the young wife 
was reflecting, in the new life she and her husband were 
leading; so fraught was it with deepest, truest content. A 
tap at the door roused her, and Harriet Fellows, in her 
dressing-gown, appeared. 

“We are both keeping a vigil, I see,” she said, smiling; 
“therefore let us keep it together. Ruth,” — the older 
woman seated lierself on the rug, resting her head against 
the other’s knee, — “ do you remember that day long ago at 
Miss Daintrey’s, just before your last message from abroad, 
how we had planned for sucli a wonderful life? We 
thought, after that blow came, nothing ever would seem 
right again. And yet, see how %oonderftdly He has led us. 
Surely, Rutli, ice can never doubt again ! ” 

“ Doubt ! ” Ruth lifted her e3"es and smiled. Doubt [ 
Oh, Harriet, we can — we will — always trust forever 


/O 


THE END. 



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